


Of hope also one lives

by comeaftermejackrobinson, MissingMissFisher (bokchoynomad)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Season 3 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10876533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeaftermejackrobinson/pseuds/comeaftermejackrobinson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokchoynomad/pseuds/MissingMissFisher
Summary: “De ilusión también se vive (Of hope also one lives).”— Spanish proverb“And I know I would never forget your voice, even if I lost my memory.”— From the song "Saber cuándo parar" by Las Pastillas del AbueloDetective Inspector Jack Robinson is given a tentative prognosis after narrowly surviving being shot in the head trying to negotiate a hostage situation that has gone wrong. His recovery becomes ambiguous due to the fact that he wakes up believing himself to be someone else… and only remembering one woman’s particular voice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alongside all the amazing encouragement we received, and the fact that we so thoroughly enjoyed combining our creative forces to bring you all our first ever joint fic project, ["I wander all the while,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10660152) it didn’t take long for us to agree that we just had to do it all over again! 
> 
> Definitely stock up on the tissues again because we’ve cooked up a plot in line with the MFMM May trop fic theme of “hurt and comfort,” which has seemed to become one of our specialties.
> 
> The title for this story is the literal translation of the Spanish proverb, _“De ilusión también se vive.”_. And one of the main themes we’ve chosen to focus on for the story is based on this saying’s figurative translation: Life is not always about “getting there” or getting what you want, but also about the dreaming of getting there. Hopes and dreams are what keep us going.
> 
> So, yes, expect lots of angst, but don’t forget that the trope challenge also includes “comfort”! Keep both these interpretations of the proverb in mind because we really believe that hopes and dreams are what keep us going. And, in our headcanon, we always want Phrack and their family and friends to realise them too!
> 
> Lots of Love and Happy Reading from us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Uno vive de ilusiones."
> 
> This Spanish proverb is said to console when life doesn’t grant us our yearnings. The Spanish word for "Illusion" can be used in three different ways:
> 
> to speak of enthusiasm, excitement and hopeful anticipation of something that will happen;  
> to speak of wishful thinking, hopes and dreams (things you want to happen);  
> to speak of illusion, delusion and mirages.
> 
> The aforementioned proverb was our inspiration to begin writing a new story together. We have chosen to translate it into English and make it the title of the journey we are starting today. You're invited to join us, but we warn you: bring your own tissues!
> 
> We hope that you like the first chapter enough to decide to come back for more.

She had asked him to dinner at Wardlow.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time he would sit at the table with her to share one of Mr. Butler’s delicious three course meals. They had done so multiple times ever since they’d become acquaintances. They had even allowed themselves to light one candle shortly after solving one of their early cases together, the night she had told him they wouldn’t be seeing much of her young Chinese lover around St. Kilda anymore. And as their relationship changed and they grew even closer, there had been other times, as well, when she had asked her butler to light one, or two, or perhaps even three candles in the inspector’s company. And each one of those times he had silently cursed the candlelight for making her exquisite, exotic face even more so. And the temptation even harder to resist.

 

But this time it would be different. Things between them were different. Too much water had passed under the bridge- it didn't have to be a bad thing, necessarily. They knew each other better now, more in depth. They had grown together, they had even grown apart for a brief period of time in the aftermath of the Haynes case, and they had grown even closer after they had worked that out. And now they were… what? He wasn't sure himself. He did know what he wanted them to be. He did know what he had to offer. He wondered if her invitation had anything to do with what she had to offer.

 

It made him nervous, excited and terrified in equal parts, for he had no idea if he'd be able to resist the temptation of taking whatever she offered, whether it was eye to eye with his own morals and beliefs or not. Just like that night after the Pandarus case when he had given in and visited her so late to tell her he wasn't always an honourable man. Only to be interrupted by her blasted aunt!

 

He had bought a new tie to wear that night. He had seen it in a fancy window display of a notable menswear shop, and he hadn't been able to help himself. It had been expensive, but he rarely treated himself to anything other than second-hand books. He still had a little money left from his Christmas bonus, and the color of the fine fabric had reminded him of her eyes. He had felt like a foolish, lovesick schoolboy going into the store later that week to buy the tie, the pound notes safely tucked in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. But, dinner with Miss Fisher- _an exclusive dinner engagement with Miss Fisher-_ ranked as a special occasion. A very special one, indeed.

 

As he left the store that day with his new tie in its own velvet box laced up with a beautiful blue ribbon, Jack wondered if this would be the first of many more exclusive dinners (were dinner dates something people still did? He knew Miss Fisher often entertained gentlemen at her home, and there was dinner involved, as well as other things.) When he put on his new tie that night as he got ready to drive up to St. Kilda, he allowed himself- for a brief moment, and only a brief moment- to wonder if by the following morning the expensive tie he had been so careful with when tying it around his neck would lay forgotten with reckless abandon on the back of a chair or on top a pool of clothes on the floor in Miss Fisher's boudoir.

 

He didn't have much time to dwell on this… what was it? A thought? Wishful thinking? A fantasy? He was about to leave for Wardlow when his house telephone rang. He knew before he answered that it had to be a call from City South. No one called him at his house for any reasons that weren't work related. He didn't have much family left, and his former army mates he still kept in touch with didn't ring him at his house. It had to be work.

 

And judging by the insistence of the person calling, it had to be important.

 

He wasn't technically on duty. It was his night off. It was rare that he got any time off, and when he did he usually stayed at home with a glass of wine and a book. If he happened to have a whole weekend off, he enjoyed going out on his bike for a ride or spending the day working on his little back garden. When he got called on those occasions, he didn't mind interrupting his leisure time to go help with a case.

 

He had never hesitated before answering  the phone before. He had a duty as an officer of the law. He had been sworn in to serve and protect. He loved his job, and he felt it came with a great responsibility. Sometimes it meant one had to place it above everything else in one’s life. And, didn’t he know that! It was one of the more significant issues that had cost him his marriage, he believed. It was also something he didn't want to think about at the moment, but the truth was that it had.

 

The phone kept on ringing, and it was started to get on his nerves.

 

No, it had never taken more than three rings, four if he was working in the gardens, to answer the phone when someone called his house on his free days.

 

Tonight was different, though. He didn't want to be called in. He _dreaded_ being called in. He knew it was selfish of him to think like that, but he wanted to ignore the telephone. He had never noticed before how utterly annoying those devices could be, with their insistent high pitched ringing noises. It was beginning to rattle him.

 

He knew they wouldn't be calling if it wasn't something important. They wouldn't be calling him if they didn't need him, whatever reasons they had to. And he knew that if he answered it, he would irremediably find himself in need of cancelling his plans with Miss Fisher.

 

The woman waited for no one. She pined for no one. She had a long list of handsome fellas waiting _on_ her. She needn't wait, for she could have whatever and _whomever_ she wanted with a snap of her delicate, manicured fingers. And yet she had chosen him, at least for that night. The woman he would have chosen every day of his life for as long he lived had chosen him for that _one_ night. If he didn't show up, if he cancelled on her, he couldn't be sure there would be other invitations. At least not ones with so much promise, with so much meaning. He knew she'd understand should he have to cancel because of his job, but he wasn't sure he'd still have her full attention the following day. There was a whole world out there he had to compete with for her attention.

 

The telephone stopped ringing and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He put on his suit and went to find his hat that he had left on the rack near the front door, when the telephone began to ring again.

 

He couldn't ignore it any longer. It had to be important. And he knew the woman he would be probably canceling his plans with very shortly would make her profession as a detective a priority. And so should he.

 

With a horrible pang of regret setting into the pit of his stomach, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson answered the call that would be the catalyst for a series of events that would change his plans, and the rest of his life, irrevocably and forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Robinson unquestioningly rushes to assist Constable Collins and his men with a hostage situation, especially after he learns the lives of two little boys are at stake...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the great feedback for our introduction to this new story of ours! Here is the next installment, which we won't kid you, is where things get a bit dicey. 
> 
> Our hearts were racing whilst we were writing it...and sinking as well. You have been forewarned. Again, don't forget the trope is "hurt AND comfort" (repeat after us, "Of hope also, of hope also")! 
> 
> So, hang on tight for this next part of the ride!

There was a hostage situation involving a father of two, his wife and their children. Constable Collins had sounded far more than usually upset on the telephone. The information Jack had gathered from the brief call had upset  _ him, _ so he could only imagine what it could be like for the young constable. Collins had never experienced such a situation firsthand. It was one thing to hear and read about them, and a very different one to actually witness them and hold the duty to intervene. 

 

As a result, there was no way the inspector could let his constable and other men handle this one alone.

 

When Jack arrived at the house, still wearing the new tie he had chosen for his dinner with Miss Fisher, he again mentally reviewed situation’s details as Collins had relayed them to him over the telephone for what felt like the hundredth time. 

 

A recently laid-off father of two had been drinking heavily. The stress and pressure of the social and economic situation and the struggle he was in to make ends meet had cracked his endurance. Apparently, his wife had wanted to leave with the children and go to spend some time at her mother’s house, but the man had refused to let her and the kids go. When he was met with resistance from the woman’s part, he had found a gun he kept somewhere in the house and was now threatening to shoot the woman if she left. The crying and the screams of terror from both her and the children, as well as from the drunken shouting from the man, had alerted the neighbours. They had then called the police. Apparently, the sound of a bullet going off during the call had rattled both the caller and Collins enough to compel the constable to place the call to the inspector immediately afterwards.

 

“Sir!” Collins instantly called out to him in obvious relief as soon as he saw Jack exiting his motorcar. The younger man looked pale, almost as if he was trying his hardest not to be sick. “We’ve got the house surrounded.”

 

“Good work, Collins!” Jack immediately affirmed the younger man. “What’s the current status of the suspect and hostages?” 

 

“The gunman, a Mr Peter Lorne, still has his gun trained on his wife, Mrs Amelia Lorne, in the kitchen. Their recent argument escalated just as they were about to sit down to dinner. Unfortunately, their two twin boys, aged six, according to the neighbour who telephoned, are also still in the kitchen where he has trapped them.”

 

“Trapped them how exactly?”

 

“He is currently blocking their exit through the backdoor with his own person after having barricaded the other exit by shoving the kitchen table against it.” Collins’ voice only wavered slightly once throughout his entire briefing at the thought of the terrified children inside. “That was what Sergeant Reynolds was able to see when he was able to observe the situation through the kitchen window.”

 

“Very good. Has anyone attempted to speak to Lorne yet?”

 

“Yes, sir, I announced that the police had arrived, and requested that he put down his weapon. He responded with a string of curses and threats when his wife and children began crying out to us.”

 

The inspector deliberately fought to keep his stoic mask in place at Collins’ last description, desperately calling on all of his years’ of training and experiences from the war when even a seemingly unremarkable flicker of one’s eyebrow could cause irreversible damage, or worst, one’s death. There was no predicting what could happen when dealing with a madman with a lethal weapon, especially one who was both drunk and overly emotional. As though in response to the inspector’s thoughts, the man’s rantings suddenly pierced through the neighbourhood’s near silence, causing Jack’s blood to boil. There was nothing worst he feared than when innocent children’s lives were at stake. 

 

He would always remember one of the first cases he had worked on when he had been a constable himself, not much older than Collins was. A drunken man had set his house on fire while his five children, his wife and his elderly parents had been sleeping inside. It was a case he still remembered to this day. The wife had seeked help from the police department several times, saying how her husband was very violent and threatened to do something awful to her and her sons and daughters. But, the man that had had Jack’s superior at the time had dismissed this, telling the woman every man had his temper and that these were just domestic disputes. Jack would never forget, for as long as he lived, the little bodies of the children after they’d been taken out of the house in ruins: small, and broken, and smelling of smoke and ashes. Calcined, his scientifically-acquired vocabulary had unhelpfully intruded at that moment, those children had been calcined. Exposed to a high temperature and reduced to ash.

 

With the image of those little charred bodies still haunting the darker recesses of his memory, Jack began to move towards the house decisively, rapidly formulating a strategy as he acknowledged several of his other men with a nod. 

 

“Here’s what we are going to do, Collins, since we need to remove the threat to Mrs Lorne and the children by the safest means possible. You and Constable Richards station yourselves in the main hallway as close to the kitchen’s entrance as possible, but providing yourselves some cover in case Lorne decides to start shooting in that direction.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Collins responded, immediately beckoning for Richards to approach.

 

“I will take the back entrance, unarmed…”

 

_ Unarmed.  _ The word echoed ominously inside Constable Collins’s head.

 

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was going to be unarmed.

 

“But, sir…”

 

“Collins, Lorne needs to see that I am not a threat to him. I need to attempt to negotiate with him verbally first in order to persuade him to let his family go, or get him to give up his weapon or himself over to us. The second best scenario is that I can either distract or lure him away from the hostages long enough for Reynolds to take a clear shot. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir, of course, sir.” At his superior officer’s commanding tone, the constable immediately straightened and nodded, stopping himself from practically saluting. 

 

The two men both knew that these were the only options left to them at the moment. And, that should the second plan become necessary, at least they could rely on the fact that Sergeant Reynolds was an ex-military sniper. Considering the circumstances, the second plan was to be avoided because it meant that someone would inevitably be killed. The older policeman had committed his life to protecting others, especially after he had spent four years being forced to kill. It was now something that he avoided at all costs. And, why he devoted so many of his current abilities and time to bring to justice those who intentionally, and sometimes accidentally, did. He never killed if he could help it. He always chose to take the culprits into custody and let them sit through a fair trial. There simply was no excuse for it.

 

Collins quickly dispatched their senior officer’s directives to the rest of the team. Jack waited until they were all in place before lifting his arm into the air and lifting a finger for each count he issued out verbally. 

 

“We’re going in on...one, two, three!”

 

Constables Collins and Richards quickly descended the dilapidated front steps, as the slight blur of a flapping coat with a flash of red lining followed Inspector Robinson’s sprint around the corner. As his men hurried down the inside hallway, Jack quickly ran through the back gate, but slowed as he rounded the final corner of the dwelling that had once known much happier times. He nodded as he handed over his service revolver to Sergeant Reynolds who had found a wooden box that he was using to position himself in the best unobstructed angle that would allow him to observe. And, to take aim inside the house.

 

The screaming had continued, and naturally became louder, as Jack reached the back steps, which were, perhaps, in worst condition compared to the front ones. More planks had broken straight through that wild weeds had bountifully exploited. Several wooden toy cars lay scattered across the dirty, back porch next to an upended, metal washtub. A washing line still bearing its full load of various articles of clothing fluttered slightly as Jack ducked beneath it, ignoring the twinge inside his heart as he noticed the tiny shirts and trousers still drying in the evening’s light. He then carefully climbed the treacherous steps, and announced his presence next to the opened back window before he approached the back door.

 

“Peter Lorne?”

 

The ranting stopped suddenly as it registered the new, authoritative voice. “And who wantsa know?”

 

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson with City South Station. Would you care to step outside for a minute, Mr Lorne?”

 

“Now, why’s would I wantsa do something stupid like that, you bloody copper?” The gunman’s words were slurring noticeably, which wasn’t a good sign. He would be harder to persuade if he became even more inebriated. “Keep yer nose outta my private bizness!”

 

“Well, Mr Lorne, I’m happy to listen to your concerns, if you’d just like to come outside and tell me about them. Man to man, perhaps?”

 

“But, it don’t bloody concern you, copper! Like I said, izz my private bizness! Just between me and my missus here, who has the cheek to try to walk out on me!” The sound of something whizzed past Jack’s year that was met by another piercing, female scream followed by younger cries as the object, or objects, from the sound of it, shattered loudly. “I’ll teach you to try and walk out me! After all I’ve done to house you and to feed all your sorry asses!” 

 

“Mr Lorne! Please! You are scaring your children!” The ranting lessened slightly, and Jack could only pray to whoever might be listening that he was gaining some leeway. “Why don’t you let them come outside here?”

 

“Hmmm, you might have something there, copper.” Jack opened his eyes in relief, only just realizing he’d squeezed them shut in his anxiousness. “Their crying’s been gettin’ more helluva annoyin’! Get your sorry asses outta here, you buncha panies! No sons o’ mine should be weepin’ like the Yarra like this! Get outta here!” he roared once more.

 

Not wasting a minute, Jack sprang into action and pulled on the door, using his foot to keep it propped open as he lifted his hands high to show he was unarmed. He quickly sized up the scene, and motioned for the children to run towards him. One of the twins instantly rushed for the exit soon as it appeared, and Jack quickly swung out an arm to grab the boy to himself before tucking him behind the door. The constable who been standing on guard by the other back window quickly motioned for the little boy to go to him, which he thankfully did at a run. He quickly accompanied the child around the corner and well out of harm’s way.

 

The lad’s brother, however, wasn’t as easy to persuade as he wrapped his arms even more tightly around his mother’s waist and cried even harder at yet one more change in events to the highly tensed atmosphere. Unfortunately, the child’s actions and louder cries only served to add more tinder to his father’s explosive anger.

 

“Always did say that ya mollycoddled the boys too much, didn’t I, Amelia? Jus’ look at him! What a damn disappointment to a man having a boy that’s too attached to his mama like that? Whaddid I tell ya? Huh?” In his rage, the man began waving his gun about frantically.

 

“Mr Lorne,” Jack stated as calmly as he could from his stance by the still opened door with his hands still raised, but now at chest level. “Please calm down. You said you would let the children go.”

 

“No!” Lorne suddenly retorted. “I’ve got nuthin’ left, you see, copper! No job left. Soon, no house left. No booze left. And now, she’s done gone and taken my only pride left from me. She’d damn turned my boys into sissy girls! They ain’t neva gonna become men now!” He began to weep.

 

Before Jack could respond, Lorne continued to weep before lifting his gun and firing it without any notice. Amelia Lorne’s eyes, widened from shock and horror, would remain seared upon his memory forevermore alongside those of the charred images of those other children, as the blood trickled from the gaping hole in her head before her body slumped to the floor. The inspector would also never forget the unearthly sound that emitted from the traumatized child at the sight of his mother dying before him as he desperately continued to try to cling to her. 

 

Jack sensed the shift in the air before he could hear or see it, and he dove on instinct towards the child just as two more gunshots rang out in close succession to one another.

 

“Noooooooooooooo!” 

 

The scream reverberated throughout the room, and he never even realized that the desperate cry had issued from his own lungs. Because the next thing, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson knew was that there was an indescribable slice of pain cutting through the back of his head. 

 

And then, everything went instantly dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for leaving us your comments. Don't worry, even we were fighting back the odd tear when we wrote that last chapter. Never fear, for Miss Fisher's on the case now!

Waiting was not something the Honourable Phryne Fisher handled well. Whether it was queuing in traffic or at the theatre when she was out on the town to enjoy an operetta (even if she had her own box, she still hated to wait). The virtue of patience was not one the beautiful, black-haired socialite had ever claimed to possess. She couldn’t honestly admit to have made any efforts to develop said virtue, either. Life was to be lived in the spur of the moment- who waited for anything or anyone anymore in the ‘Roaring Twenties’?

 

Perhaps, people like her companion, Miss Dorothy Williams, did. Oh, Dot was exceptionally good at waiting. She had the patience of a monk! To think the sweet, young girl believed and waited for the second coming of Christ and prayed daily for it to happen soon! But Miss Fisher wasn’t like Dot. She couldn’t even stand watching Dot wait for the baked goods to be ready when they sat at the kitchen table discussing cases or plotting breaking ins! (Well, Phryne plotted breaking into places whilst Dot just baked, her pale lips pursed in a small gesture that was her telling that she was uncomfortable, but respected her Miss too much to make any comments).

 

So no, Miss Fisher did not like to wait. She wasn’t used to doing so, either. Or at least she had grown accustomed to how her life was now, how it had been since her father had inherited a title (odd strike of luck, that one had been. Her father! With a title! No one at Collingwood would have believed him. In fact, when he had shared the news some had thought it was just more of the usual ramblings of a drunk man). Besides, when one had Miss Fisher’s social status and fortune, people knew better than to keep someone like her waiting. A lot more doors opened, and a lot quicker.

 

She had been impatient as a child, and now that she was an adult woman living in the world of the rich and powerful (not to mention famous) Miss Fisher had become even more restless when it came to waiting. If she wanted something, then she wanted it as soon as possible. Was it childish? Yes, perhaps it was. Did knowing this help her behave differently? Well, no, it just didn’t. She was who she was. She wasn’t rude to waitresses or bell boys or anyone for that matter, and she didn’t complain out loud. Money and luxuries hadn’t spoiled her rotten like some other people she knew (her own father, for instance.) She wasn’t like Aunt Prudence, either. She just sat there on her impatience, for she knew it was she who had the problem with waiting, and she didn’t have a right to take it out on anyone simply because she hadn’t been given this particular virtue. (Miss Fisher couldn’t say she minded it much- she would take knowing how to pick locks over the so-called virtue of waiting any day).

 

There was only one area in her life where Phryne Fisher especially didn’t like to be kept waiting, and that was whenever it related to men. She didn’t complain about having to wait for them, either, because she simply didn’t. Her time was much too valuable to be wasted on that. She had never wanted for men’s attention either.  On the contrary, it was always they who sought her for hers. This was certainly the status quo when it came to her interactions with her long list of admirers, suitors, and conquests.

 

That is, until the day she met a certain civil detective inspector who not only remained firmly in place against the “charming freight train” like aspects of her usual modus operandi. But, he had also somehow managed surreptitiously to slip past the facade that she normally presented to the rest of the world despite her vigilant attempts to guard its door. And although she was still unwilling to examine it too closely, she could at least acknowledge the fact that their connection had also taken root somewhere in the heart of the whirlwind in which she normally preferred to live her life. It was one of the reasons why she had invested extra care and time into preparing for their exclusive dinner engagement tonight.

 

An engagement for which Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was now fifteen minutes late for. Or more than that if she counted the additional “unofficial” ten minutes on top that he would usually arrive before, well, anything that they did together (just as she would “unofficially” arrive ten minutes later).

 

Closing her eyes briefly, she mentally ran through their interactions starting with her dinner invitation, and all the responses Jack had made, both verbally, in writing, or, as was more their custom, _non-verbally._  And all signs indicated that he had certainly not only accepted most definitively, but had also understood the significance of both her invitation and his acceptance of tonight’s intended rendezvous. “Magic?” Mr Butler had enquired earlier after she'd packed Dot and the cabbies off for the night, and she had affirmed her hopes to experience some that evening very enthusiastically.

 

But, now, that enthusiasm was nearly spent, and rapidly transitioning into concern. It really wasn’t like Jack to be late, ever, especially for something like this. And, it really wasn’t like Phryne to worry instead of doing something, so she picked herself up from her favourite parlour chaise and migrated to her telephone stand.

 

She tried ringing him at his house first since she knew he was off duty for the evening. She very rarely, if ever, telephoned him there because, well, it seemed he was rarely ever there, for one thing. It was an unspoken understanding between them that she could always reach him at the station anyway. For some reason, when Phryne thought of Jack’s ‘home’ (not that she often did that, not that she frequently imagined how his bedroom would be like or how his mattress would feel like under her naked body, oh no, definitely not that), she always thought of City South first.

 

He was always there, serving his duty, putting all of his abilities, skills and efforts to make sure Melbourne was a safer, better place. He _seemed_ to be at home there. He had to live somewhere, of course, the man didn’t sleep there passed out from sheer exhaustion on his desk, his head laying atop a small pile of unfinished paperwork? Yes, she could see that happening. She was sure that had happened on more than one occasion (Hmm, she really ought to try to catch him like that one of these nights)!

 

But she just couldn’t picture wherever it was that he resided when he was off duty, no matter how hard she tried. And, as a woman that had lived everywhere and anywhere and didn’t want to be tied to anyone or anything, she understood that the concept of ‘home’ didn’t have to be reduced to the official place of residence for a person. Home could be anywhere. For her, Jack’s home was definitely City South Police Station.

 

These idle thoughts flitted through her mind like the movements of a bird’s wings as she counted the rings absent-mindedly.

 

_Five. Six. Seven..._

 

Curiouser and curiouser. But no matter, perhaps, he was already on his way over to St Kilda. Just in case, however, she tried the number that she had long ago memorized and began to count the rings again.

 

 _One. Two. Three_ …

 

“City South Police, this is Constable Harvey, how may I help you?”

 

“Good evening. This is the Honourable Phryne Fisher speaking.” She had learned that when matters were urgent and answers were needed, showing off her title a little helped accelerate the course of things. She wouldn’t normally do it, but that night she was worried and in a hurry, and she’d not yet met Constable Harvey, but vaguely recalled his name. He must be new. Would she go after special treatment any given day? Perhaps, in the right circumstance. This was beginning to seem like one of those moments.

 

“Good evening, er, Miss Fisher,” the constable stammered slightly. This was his first week at City South, and although he had not yet had the pleasure of meeting her, the young policemen had already been briefed rather quickly about her apparent standing, especially at this particular station, and with his new boss.

 

“May I speak with Inspector Robinson if he’s available please?”

 

“Erm, he’s not on duty at the moment, miss.” Phryne’s sense of relief was short-lived, however, when she realized that the growing concern that had begun to shroud over her thoughts had slowly begin to suffocate them.

 

“Then, I would like to speak to Constable Collins, please.”

 

“He’s not available at the minute, miss, he’s been called out to handle an incident. Would you like to leave a message?”

 

“Oh, well, no thank you, not right at this moment, Constable Harvey, thank you very much again.”

 

Phryne thought she heard a sound outside so she had rushed off the call, and headed to the kitchen to investigate. She tried not to let Mr Butler see her disappointment when she saw him accepting some deliveries being dropped off at the back door. The older man looked up when he sensed her in the kitchen doorway.

 

“I’ll be right with you, Miss. Has the inspector arrived then?”

 

“No, not yet, Mr B. Please don’t rush.”

 

“Very good, Miss,” her loyal household manager responded promptly, as he turned quickly to pay the delivery boy and to hide his eyes that belied his own growing concern. It really wasn’t like the inspector to be late. Not this late. And most certainly not this night. Not for her.

 

After she had returned to the parlour and listlessly flicked through a few more pages of the book she had been reading without registering any of the words, Phryne once again lunged off of her seat, and settled herself back in front of her telephone. It was now half past the hour.

 

 _One. Two_ …

 

“City South, this is Constable Harvey…”

 

“Hello, Constable, this is Miss Fisher again,” she interrupted his automatic greeting.

 

“Oh, hello, Miss…”

 

“Has the inspector been about the station since we last spoke, Constable?”

 

Even if the constable was new- she hadn’t yet met him, although she suddenly recalled Dot and Hugh talking in the kitchen a couple of nights ago about a new constable Hugh was helping to train- he surely had to know by now that she was Inspector Robinson’s partner.

 

“No, Miss. Like I told you before, ” the poor young man sounded more nervous now, “Inspector Robinson is off duty tonight. But, Inspector Lane is about to come on duty on the hour if you wish to speak to him, perhaps?”

 

Why would she want to speak to anyone other than Jack Robinson? Had she ever worked with anyone at City South other than him? _Her_ inspector? Well, yes, she had worked with Hugh, but only because he always worked with Jack. She didn’t want anyone else. She didn’t want to know about anyone else’s whereabouts, or if they were about to come on duty or if they had just left on a plane for bloody Tasmania to never return!

 

She was calling to ask about Jack Robinson, the man that was always ten minutes early to everything. The man that was so noble, and honourable and well-mannered that he would never cancel on her last minute, at least not without an explanation. And, he definitely would never just _not show up at all_. With each passing second, something in Phryne’s gut- her instinct, her intuition, whatever it could be called- was telling her that something was wrong. If Jack hadn’t called, if he hadn’t been at her door promptly at the time she had told him to, and if he hadn’t had any contact with anyone at his station, then something _had_ to be wrong.

 

“I’d like to leave a message then, please, Constable.”

 

“For Inspector Lane, Miss?”

 

Oh, this young man didn’t have any idea! She wondered if he’d lose his head if he didn’t have it attached to the rest of his body!

 

“For Inspector _Jack Robinson_!” she enunciated with a deadly calm (her finishing school elocution instructor would have been elated).

 

“Of course, Miss Fisher,” the man instantly reassured her. “Please, just let me find my pencil.” Phryne began to breathe in and out very deeply to refrain from screaming at him. “Oh!”

 

“‘ _Oh_?’” She could help repeating.

 

“I’ve just realized that Constable Collins had left a note here for me to ring you, Miss, since it’s still on the main notepad.”

 

She felt her heart beating violently against her throat, an acidic sensation that had to do with her rising levels of anxiety setting in on the pit of her stomach.

 

“Would you care to read it to me then, Constable?”

 

“Yes, it says: _‘Ring Miss Fisher. Insp. R sends regrets. Will contact after hos. case’_ That is exactly what he wrote here, Miss.”

 

“And when did he write this message that you had failed to deliver to me?” The younger man winced slightly as the voice over the phone rose a tone and pitch higher.

 

“Erm, now I remember that he’d mention leaving me a note just as he was heading out in response to the last call that he had received and made. For the hos case.”

 

“What on earth is a bloody ‘hos case,’ Constable? Does that stand for ‘hospital’?” The voice now carried a slight tremour.

 

“Oh, right, apologies, Miss, that’s our shorthand around here for ‘hostage,’ not ‘hospital.’ I don’t think we actually have a shorthand for that, come to think of it.”

 

It didn’t matter, since the mention of both of those words in the same sentence in relation to a message of regret that Jack had apparently left her god knows when, had chilled the blood flowing through her body. And, the heart she had felt beating at her throats only moments ago seemed to have stopped all of a sudden.

 

“So, by your estimation, Constable,” the voice now sounded positively chilling through the receiver, although it only made Constable Harvey begin to sweat profusely. “Constable Collins had left this message that he had received from Inspector Robinson, that he entrusted you to relay to me...approximately one hour ago now?”

 

The constable breathed out a quick breathe in relief. He could finally answer one of her questions! “Yes, Miss, that would be correct.”

 

Silence, well, over the line, at least, since Harvey could hear the station clock ticking.

 

“Do you know where this hostage situation is taking place, Constable?”

 

Another easy question, he began to breathe a lot more easily now. “Of course, Miss. Constable Collins left the address right here as well,” Phryne nearly bit her lip in her impatience as she heard the sound of paper rustling reaching her from down the line before Harvey read out an address to her. “From what I can recall, it was a domestic dispute that escalated at a family home in Collingwood, Miss. A gunshot was heard, and two kids are trapped. That’s where Collins went, and, I believe, where Inspector Robinson was meeting him and the others.”

 

“Thank you, Constable Harvey, please leave a message for either Inspector Robinson or Constable Collins to contact me as soon as either of them can.”

 

The line suddenly went dead after Phryne dropped the phone, and slid down to the floor and leaned her head against the table holding the telephone since the call had drained her of all energy. Different words that the constable had mentioned rose up to the surface and slowly floated into place:

 

_Hostage. Hospital. Domestic dispute. Gunshot. Kids trapped._

 

And, an address in Collingwood, of all places.

 

Suddenly, she sprang back to her feet as the reality of where Jack had headed, not to mention why, slammed into her consciousness at full force.

 

Mr Butler looked up from the range just as his mistress flew past him in a blur before disappearing through the door that led to the garage. He also calmly registered the brief litany words she had shouted at him, and bent over again to turn off the heat to begin allowing everything to cool. Now where had Dorothy left that empty basket?

 

It would seem that there would be no one dining any time soon that night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne arrives on the scene and fights her inner worst fears whilst she frantically searches for Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve been working hard to bring you the next installment of our trope tale! Thank you as always for your wonderful comments and feedback!

The screech of protesting tires careening around the bend sent a flock of birds fleeing from their perches on an extended telephone wire overhead. Barely registering a gaggle of bystanders on the pavement, Miss Fisher rammed on her brakes at the sight of two ambulances pulled up next to a dilapidated house. She barely registered jerking her Hispano to a complete stop as it bounced up onto the kerb behind a familiar motorcar.

 

Jack’s motorcar.

 

Not bothering with the door handle in her haste, Phryne just about remembered to switch off the engine and her head lamps before vaulting out of the vehicle, barely heeding the slight tearing sound coming from her carefully selected beaded gown as she frantically took stock of the chaotic scene playing out before her panicked eyes.

 

In the evening’s darkness, her eyes scanned the crying neighbours or curious passersby intermingling with uniformed officers and a paramedic here or there. One constable was crouching down with his arms awkwardly around a sobbing child whilst an older woman was holding another boy enveloped in a dull brown, police-issued blanket who was still as a statue and looked identical to the hysterical one. _The children! They’re safe!_ Phryne’s overly alert mind instantly registered that information as she locked onto one particularly familiar figure in a mixture of relief and mingled dread.

 

She immediately began making her way over to him whilst he sat on the house’s bottom step gripping his head tightly with his non-injured hand. The other was bandaged up and lay limply in his lap. Darting her eyes about in unusual anxiety, Phryne called out to him, an uncharacteristic tremor tinging her voice.

 

“Hugh! Are you all right?”

 

The young man lifted his head at the sound of his name being called and could only shake his head vehemently as tears gathered in his eyes. He clamped his lips tightly together as though to do otherwise would release the torrential deluge of emotion from within. Phryne froze in her spot instantly as her eyes widened in horror.

 

“Jack?” She managed to whisper, biting her lip as Hugh could only continue shaking his head mutely again before once again burying it into his hand. “No! Where is he, Hugh?!”

 

Seeing the usually unflappable Miss Fisher become stricken and undone right before him tipped the last of his reserves. Hugh Collins could no longer hold himself together and simply began to weep.

 

“Hugh! Where is Jack? What’s happened? Where _is_ he?” She cried out, struggling against the ice cold anguish trying to wrap its icy tentacles around her throat and heart.

 

She let go of Hugh’s sleeve that she only just realised she had been gripping as she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Spinning about, she couldn’t stop her heart from plummeting to her feet at the sight of a pair of paramedics carrying a shrouded figure on a stretcher through the wide open front door of the house. One of Hugh’s colleagues gripped him solidly by his good arm, attempting to move him out of the way, as the stretcher bearers neared the bottom of the steps. Phryne gripped her roiling stomach and grabbed one of the step’s railings as she watched the body approach in what felt like suspended motion.

Resisting the urge to collapse in a heap, she suddenly let go of the railing and rushed straight up to the stretcher as the paramedics set it down to have a quick word with a few nearby constables. Before anyone could stop her, she knelt down and whipped the bloody cloth away, preparing for the worst.

 

She remembered another time she’d had to prepare for the worst. She had been younger, a child. She’d been younger than Jane was when she and Jack had found her on the train to Ballarat. And her sister had just gone missing, vanished from the face of the earth when her big sister had been hypnotized watching the circus performance. Even as a child, supposedly innocent and prone to see only the good in the world and the people in it (as if! The monster they had for a father! She had learned early on that there was no such thing as a world only inhabited by good people), even then Phryne had known everything indicated that they had to expect the worst. Her parents hadn’t, not immediately. Neither had her Aunt Prudence and her Uncle Edward. No, they had hoped for the best. They had gone on hoping for years. But, Phryne had known better. She had prepared herself for the worst only two hours following Janey’s disappearance.

 

So now in the face of another tragedy, another loss, she prepared herself for the worst. The grief, the desolation, the guilt. The unanswered questions. The words left unsaid. The moments they hadn’t dared experience. The regrets. The words left unsaid. All the things left undiscovered. The promise of ‘some day, one day’ reduced to nothing. Ashes to ashes. Where there once had been a beautiful, noble man, a neverending mystery for her to to thrive in its solving, now there would be nothingness.

 

But instead she found  herself staring down blankly at the body of a woman who had been shot in the forehead. Phryne quickly squeezed her eyes shut against the warring feelings of anger that this had happened to an innocent woman who had only been attempting to defend her children. And, momentarily clinging to the relief that she was not staring down at a bullet hole in Jack’s head. She solemnly and respectfully slipped the white material back over the woman’s features and rose to her feet.

 

Had he felt like that that one time? Had he lifted a cloth off a dead woman’s body expecting the worst, expecting to see Phryne’s face, only to find himself staring at Gerty’s lifeless features? Had he felt the rush of adrenaline and relief when he realized it wasn’t Phryne in the car? Had he felt relieved that it was someone else who had met death at the wheel, just like she was now relieved (and what a horribly horrible thought that was) that the bullet that could have killed Jack was buried in someone else’s skull? Someone that earlier that same day had been alive, breathing, blood flowing in her veins…

 

 _Don’t think about this now,_ she scolded herself. _Focus, focus._ Jack had to be there somewhere, didn’t he? She had to find him. See him.

 

That was when the lady detective watched as another covered figure was being carried out of the house and slowly down the stairs by two policeman. This body was noticeably larger than that of the first victim. And why were policemen carrying it out?

 

_No! It couldn’t be!_

 

Suddenly, what felt like a hundred thousands images of and shared moments with Jack Robinson began mentally dancing through her mind, in stark contrast to the horrid reality playing out before her eyes. Refusing to even entertain any such thoughts again, Phryne rushed over to the second body, preparing to whip the cloth off of it as well to the vehement protests of the officers continuing to carry the stretcher directly towards one of the waiting ambulances.

 

Just as she had opened her mouth to make her objections known, something instinctively made her pause and turn to look back up the broken staircase towards the open door expectantly.

 

“ _Jaaaaack,_ ” her voice pierced through the evening’s pandemonium, setting off another (or maybe it was the same) flock of pigeons from their roost, as she flew up the steps and nearly knocked over one of the paramedics carefully balancing yet another stretcher. Only, this one’s occupant was not completely covered over with a white blanket.

 

Miss Fisher did collapse this time, but only to her knees with no regard for the splinters destroying her expensive stockings as she her eyes quickly assessed that now beloved face looking deceptively peaceful with its unconscious features. He was still bleeding rather heavily from what she could tell was a serious head wound. Judging from what little she knew about the situation, the lady detective quickly deduced that her partner  had also been shot in the head.

 

“Oh, Jack! What have you gotten yourself into? Why didn’t you let me know?” she cried out, not knowing whether he could listen to her desperate words or not. What would she tell him if she knew he could? What would she tell him if she was sure he _couldn’t_?

 

Phryne began to reach out tentatively towards his head, but halted at the sight of bandages permeated with blood swathed around his forehead. Instead, she slid her fingertips gently across the silk of his beautiful, yet scarlet-stained tie, and down the lapel of his grey suit jacket, and across the course material of the stretcher blanket encasing the rest of him tightly like a mummy. The urgent voice of one of the paramedics broke through the brief spell she had found herself in, jolting her to the present.

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but now that he’s been temporarily stabilised, we must get him to hospital for surgery as soon as possible.”

 

“I’m going with him,” she instantly stated, not requested.

 

“Are you family, ma’am?”

 

“Yes, I am!”

 

She was, was she not? They were. They were family. They were all a family. Oddly mismatched and definitely far from what society would judge as conventional, but damn society! Damn them all, she was going with him! She wouldn’t leave him alone, just as he would not have left her if she had been there bleeding out from a wound in her head.

 

 _Try and stop me_ , she dared him silently, but no less ferociously, looking up at the paramedic with defiance written all over her face. _Try and stop me from going with him, try and keep me from him. Try, see what happens!_

 

“Of course, then, ma’am, please allow us to load him into the ambulance first.”

 

Phryne was overcome with relief when she heard him agree. It only lasted a moment, and it was immediately replaced with the anger, the fear, the worry and the pain she had been drowning in a moment ago. But, for a wonderful millisecond, she had been allowed to feel nothing but relief: wherever they were taking him, whatever would happen, she’d be with him there. She’d be with him through it. He wouldn’t be alone. She would remain by his side.

 

“Of course,” she agreed, walking alongside with them, watching like a hovering mother hen every step they made down the rickety steps and down the pathway towards the waiting emergency vehicle.

 

Phryne then remembered to spare a quick look over her shoulder to see Hugh being helped into one of the police motorcars. Satisfied that he was being taken care of (since she couldn’t let Dot fret too much), she waited until the paramedics had carefully slid Jack into the ambulance and secured him as much as they could before the one who had spoken to her waved for her to join them.

 

Reaching out again, she brushed her fingers against his chilled neck, willing the flutter of his pulse to continue as she watched the medic do another quick assessment. Phryne only glanced away long enough to glare towards the driver, impatient for the ambulance to leave. She wanted to get as far away from Collingwood as possible. After all, this was where she had endured so much pain, including  the loss of Janey...and now, it would also be the place where she had nearly lost Jack.

 

The place where she could lose him. She still could lose him.

 

Oh, what a terrifying truth that was! She still could lose this precious man!

 

“Don’t you _dare_ die, Jack Robinson!”

 

At the sound of her warning, Jack suddenly opened his eyes just as the ambulance jolted into motion and  began to weave their way through the throng. He tried to move his lips, but no sound came out. His eyes grew frantic until they registered her face hovering in concern over his, and he visibly relaxed despite wincing against what must be the excruciating pain of his wound.

 

“I’m here, Jack,” Phryne quickly soothed him, gently caressing the side of his face, ignoring her alarm at the places where his blood had stained his skin. “I’m right here, try to rest. Don’t talk. I’m here with you, Jack. Hang on.”

 

She continued the soothing litany whilst the paramedic nodded approvingly at his patient’s response.

 

“This really is rather a nice tie, Jack,” she told him in genuine admiration as she again traced her fingers around the knot, ensuring it wasn’t too tight around his throat. She unbuttoned his collar just in case. “I’m so pleased you chose it for this evening.”

 

She continued to babble as Jack blinked in response. At one point and to her utter delight, he even managed to flash her a glimmer of his downturned smile at one of her quips. From her own harrowing experiences at the back of another ambulance, Phryne knew his chances were higher if he could remain conscious for as long as possible.

 

“Are you his wife, ma’am?” The paramedic couldn’t help asking as they neared the hospital. He was attempting to make polite conversation (as much as one could during such dire circumstances). But, he was also curious as he once again took in the seriously injured policeman, and the glamourous woman beside him who was clearly devoted to his well-being. She also didn’t seem to be too phased by much despite her glossy exterior. For instance, he knew a few so-called tough men who would instantly pass out at a drop of blood let alone witnessing someone with a gunshot wound to the head.

 

Instead of replying, Miss Fisher simply smiled and gazed deeply into Jack’s eyes in the way that had always made him felt she could see into the recesses of his entire being. His soul even, if he was someone accustomed to using such descriptions. Despite the intensive pain straining all of his nerve receptors at the moment, his heart felt at peace by the reassuring, unspoken messages her eyes were telling him. He attempted to convey them back in full measure despite the looming blackness that was returning in full force to claim him. He fought against it, struggling to hold onto the image of those beautiful, blue eyes that suddenly widened in alarm. He saw, but couldn’t hear her red lips form his name.

 

The last thing Jack Robinson heard before the wave of unconsciousness sucked him deep into its abyss again, was that the woman he adored was sitting right next to him, caressing his face.

 

And, she was not denying the fact that she was his wife.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne arrives at the hospital where Mac tells her the truth about the extent of Jack's prognosis.

For the second time that night, the Honourable Phryne Fisher found herself again forced to do something she hated: _waiting_ . She hated to be forced to do things she disliked, to begin with, so that wasn’t helping the fact that she had been told she’d have to _wait_.

 

Again!

 

Oh, how she hated the sound of that. How desperate it made her, to feel like her hands were tied and that there was nothing she could do when a man who had become significant to her, an essential part of her life, was somewhere in the hospital fighting against all odds to recover from a head wound. Fighting for his life.

 

 _Oh Jack,_ she thought, _Will you fight for me? Will you?_

 

It was a selfish thought, of course. And she knew it. It was selfish to expect he would fight _for her_ . Why should she expect to be the purpose he’d choose to fight for? It was completely selfish, and she prided herself on being a selfless person above all things. Had she been in the same situation, a bullet buried in her head and her life pending on a thread, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone urging her to fight for any other person than herself. She’d always fought for herself, she’d learned that from early on. She owed that to no one, so why should she expect other people to feel obligated to fight _for her_? She was asking of him what she herself would hate being asked for. Yes, it was completely selfish.

 

And yet she simply could not help it, the plea escaping her lips over and over again like a mantra, the same sentence repeated a million times in her mind like a meditative prayer.

 

_Fight for me, Jack. Fight for me, please._

 

She paced the corridor up and down while she waited for him to be out of surgery. She tried to focus on something other than the pain she felt in her chest, but couldn’t. She was unable to. She would never forget how he’d looked during the ambulance ride. She didn’t want to think about it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see him again.

 

Alive.

 

She paused before a window in the hallway outside the waiting area, pressing her forehead against its leaded pane, willing the night air to help cool her fevered thoughts. She really needed to come to grips with herself, and the situation, she scolded herself. She needed to remain calm, strong, and in possession of her wits, for whatever the rest of this harrowing evening would present to her.

 

Despite this bravado, her knees nearly gave way when she felt a familiar, gentle hand grasp her shoulder from behind.

 

“Phryne,” Mac called out to her, the lilt in her voice more prominent due to her fatigue and concern. “Would you like to sit down? When’s the last time you had anything substantial to eat?”

 

If Mac was asking her to sit down, then it couldn’t be good, could it? The female doctor knew her almost better than everyone else, except perhaps the inspector given the deep, intimate nature of their friendship and partnership. But Mac would always be her oldest friend. She had never dared calling her a ‘sister’, for she had had one and she had lost her when they’d been children. She would never replace Janey, never would give anyone that space in her life and her heart. But Mac was just as important. She knew Phryne like the back of her hand, did she not? If she was warning her she should sit down for what she was about to hear, then Phryne was sure it wasn’t very good news.

 

But no, she didn’t want to sit down. She would take this standing, like she had taken every single bullet that life had thrown her way ever since she had been a little girl from a troubled, poor household trying to fend for herself in Collingwood. Everything life had thrown at her, she had taken standing proud and on her own two feet. Thus, she would face this standing. She wouldn’t curl up in a ball like a scared creature. It wasn’t like her. It wasn’t how she did things.

 

“I think I’m good standing, Mac, thank you,” she rejected the offer quickly. “What can you tell me? How is Jack?”

 

“Phryne, the surgery went successfully, at least, as much as we’re able to judge from a medical point of view. Craniotomy procedures, safe and successful ones, are still relatively new,” Mac hurried on at the slight look of alarm that flashed in her friend’s eyes. “Don’t worry, the research on it has been extremely encouraging, however, and we’re really lucky that one of our own surgeons has actually studied under one of the current leading experts in this neurological field…” She trailed off as Phryne’s eyes began to glaze and quickly switched to the point.

 

“The surgical team was able to remove debris and devitalised tissue to help reduce the pressure building up inside of Jack’s head. Thankfully, the bullet passed entirely through his head leaving a perforating wound.”

 

“Yes, I recall those, when the there’s been an entry and exit wound,” Phryne nodded. “Go on.”

 

“As I said, the surgery was successful, and we were able to identify what we hope is the 'best-case scenario' under the circumstances,” Mac continued. “The wounds and the bullet’s trajectory seem limited to his brain’s left hemisphere and a single lobe, which means this should limit the functional impairments caused by the trauma.”

 

“And this is a good thing?”

 

“Yes, extremely good, darling,” her friend emphasised, “because this means that the extent of Jack’s injuries should hopefully be minimised. We won’t know for certain, even after he wakes up, but the fact the damage has been to one side of his brain means theoretically that he should still be able to perform motor and sensory activity.”

 

Phryne paused as she absorbed the medical prognosis. “And when do you think he will wake up? When can I see him?”

 

She wanted to see with her own eyes that he was breathing, and alive, and whole. She wanted to touch him, feel his skin warming up under her fingers, map out his features delicately with them. Hear the sound of his heart still beating strong, still going, still pumping up blood through his body. The body of a warrior. The body of a survivor.

 

“He’s responded extremely well to the local anaesthesia and we’ll need to keep him on intermittent sedation for now to help manage the pain. But, if all goes well, I don’t see why he wouldn’t be awake by morning.”

 

“Where is he now? When can I see him, Mac? I _must_ see him!” she insisted. Couldn’t her friend understand why this was so important to her, so vitally necessary? Mac of all people should be able to read her like an open book. She knew the doctor understood more about the deep nature of her relationship with Jack than she let on, and even more so than what Phryne would willingly admit. But when had the lady detective’s eyes not betrayed her true feelings, even if her words and actions said otherwise? And when had Mac not been able to translate the sparkles in those eyes into silently declared statements ?

 

Mac smiled tenderly at her friend’s impatience as she turned to lead the way down the hall.

 

“He’s still in the post-op ward, but I’ll take you up myself now. You’ll have to put on a gown, however, since we need to limit any risk of infection.”

 

The doctor then paused before the doors leading up a flight of stairs.

 

“Phryne, these first few days, and especially the first week are crucial. I won’t lie to you. The extent and speed of Jack’s recovery will depend on many factors like how much damage was done, any degree of swelling or pressure that could still occur… He’s not out of the woods yet. His recovery won’t be instant. In fact, it will take months, possibly years. But, knowing him as I do, he’s a survivor, and I have no doubt he’ll regain most of his abilities again. Especially with you at his side.”

 

Phryne smiled gratefully at her friend, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Yes, he was. Jack was a survivor. It would be difficult, the road ahead of him. Ahead of them. But what mattered was that he was still breathing. He was still alive. He was still there. And she would be right there with him.

 

“And, if anyone asks,” Mac added as they reached the top of the stairs. “You are his fiancee, for all intents and purposes. Otherwise, I might not be able to take you in.”

 

“Don’t you worry, Mac” Phryne reassured her. The relief she felt now even though she knew that he wasn’t out of the woods yet, was like a ray of sunlight peeking through the darkness of the ominous storm clouds. It was enough to light up some of the usual sparkle the socialite had.

 

“I already told the paramedics I was his wife,” she winked at her friend with a glimmer of her usual sass before turning to follow her through the doors of the post-surgical ward.

 

For the second time that night, Miss Phryne Fisher didn’t object to being so permanently associated to a man. She didn’t care.

  
All she could think about was keeping her promise to return to his side as quickly as she could.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne experiences a range of thoughts and emotions as she keeps vigil by Jack's bedside willing him to hold on...and to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are not going to kid you, definitely stock up on the tissues for this chapter because we went through quite a few writing it! Don't worry, there's some comfort to be found...we hope!

The first thing that came to mind for the Honourable Phryne Fisher when she stepped inside the dimly lit room was that the bed’s occupant could have easily been mistaken for someone sleeping placidly instead of an intensive care unit patient. No one would have noticed he had survived a surgical procedure for several hours had it not been for the white bandages wrapped around his head. 

 

It was a sight- the inspector sleeping- that she had imagined many times before. And, when she had woken up that morning (oh, it seemed to have happened a lifetime ago, and not less than twenty four hours!) it was one she had hoped she would see before the break of dawn. 

 

That was why she had invited him over for a special dinner engagement that night. It wasn’t supposed to be one more shared meal out of others they frequently had as friends and partners. It should have been the start of something new, something that had been brewing in their hearts, minds and souls for a long time now, probably since they’d first met. Emotion had flown between them like the waters in an unstoppable, wild river, and even if they both had to contain them (he more than she did), it was only logical that the pressure would make the levee break eventually.

 

Phryne had grown impatient, of course, because waiting wasn’t her strongest virtue, and she had thought of that dinner invitation as a way to accelerate the dam breaking process. But, now, everything had started to splinter in a completely different direction instead, for he hadn’t arrived, and the reason for it had not been cold feet (not that she had had any reason to be concerned about that), but a bullet in the head. And so there she was now, caught up in a situation that involved herself, Jack Robinson and a bed, but that was far from the fantasies she had been entertaining in her boudoir for the last couple of nights (and mornings, and sometimes in the middle of afternoon if she was home) with her thighs spread and a hand buried in between them. 

 

Mac had told her they had to wait for the effects of the anaesthesia to wear off, and damn anyone that thought or dare suggested she’d leave his side for a second. Yes, she had wanted to bed the inspector ever since she’d first laid eyes upon him. But now, a mad, troubled man with a gun had gotten the upper hand, and as a result, a bullet had put him to bed before she could (and she had saved her exquisite, newly-arrived lingerie from Paris for the occasion! What a shame)! He had to recover though, and she trusted that he would because he was strong, a fighter, a survivor. Watching him sleep after a bout of passionate, sweaty, sticky sex would have to wait, and for the time being watching him sleep while he was nursed back to health would have to make do. 

 

This latest string of events had resulted in the realization that her feelings for the inspector ran deeper than she had thought possible or probable. One after the other, the adventures they had faced- the case involving his former father-in-law and Rosie Sanderson’s (now former) fiancé, especially- had been nothing but a wake up call for the lady detective. That night he had come to her house so late, he was there waiting for her, and even if she hadn't claimed him, she well understood the message that he was hers to do whatever she damn well pleased. After Christmas in July (what would have happened if they had found themselves standing under the mistletoe “when all alone, no chaperone”?), she had felt even less of a pull towards prospective conquests and lovers, and more of a desire to go into previously unexplored territory. 

 

She wanted to be optimistic now, and believe that he’d emerge out of the woods with his head held high and victorious. He simply had to because she needed to regain her childhood belief for things to be a certain way, because if they were any different then life just wouldn’t be right. Just as she had desperately needed for Janey to be somewhere near during that horrible moment decades ago. Phryne instantly recalled that moment when she had willed her sister to appear soon. Janey had had to be playing silly, children games and hiding. And, she had had to be safe somewhere. And she had had to come back home to her older sister and parents. But, life didn’t pay any heed to her youthful and desperate pleas, and her sister had ended up buried some six feet underground, to be found only twenty years later in a common pit with Foyle’s other victims. 

 

What if she lost him like she’d lost Janey? What if this was another chapter of her life that ended abruptly and without conclusion, a chance gone to waste before they could give it a try and see how things between them would have turned out? 

 

Overcome by emotion, she took a deep breath and willed herself to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. No,  it wasn’t certain that Jack would end up all right, but she did have to be strong, and she would. For him, for the chance they were yet to take, for the adventures they had yet to live. For everything they hadn’t experienced together and that she wanted them to. 

 

She settled in for her vigil by his bed side. Hospital chairs were not comfortable, but she had spent the night in worse conditions than this. She had survived countless nights without an hour’s sleep during the war, and the nights she had snatched some sleep, it had always been on hard surfaces or very thin foam rectangles that didn’t fool anyone for trying to pass as a mattress. She didn’t mind spending the night sitting on an uncomfortable chair; she just wanted to be near him...with him. 

 

Intertwining her fingers with his, she had to take another deep breath and focus on not crying when she noticed how stiff his hand was. But, at least it was still warm, so she tried to think about that. She clung to the warmth of his skin instead. All wasn’t lost yet, he was still fighting. He was still there. He was alive. There still was time. There still was hope.

 

Several minutes passed and she began to feel restless. Sitting around had never been her forte, and she felt like she had to do something. Waiting for him to wake up wouldn’t be enough. Instead, Phryne found a cloth and walked over to the room’s small sink to fill a bowl with warm water, and she began to sponge his face with it. Her movements were delicate and soft as she traced his features with the cloth, caressing every wrinkle and line of expression as she used it to go over his dear face. What a beautiful man he was, what a treasure to have and to cherish. Even heavily sedated and with white bandages wrapped around his head, he still was dashing and handsome, just like that fine morning in the Andrews residence when they had first met over a dead body. Just like every other morning and moment when she saw him ever since.

 

Tiredness caught up with her, eventually, and she began to nod off. She tried to remain awake, but the physical and emotional exhaustion she felt after such a terrible ordeal finally won over her intentions to watch over him in his sleep. Phryne feared slipping into slumber at that moment. She felt more reassured if she could listen to his breathing and heartbeat, making sure that he was all right. That he was still there with her. 

 

But those were the sounds that lulled her to sleep in the end. She rested her head on the side of his bed next to the hand that she was still holding, her grip firm even if the rest of her body somehow relaxed even though the chair and the position were extremely uncomfortable. 

 

It wasn’t long before she began dreaming. At first it was just typical nonsense: there was a ginger cat in an alley, and she was trying to pet it, but the cat kept getting away from her. Then she did have the cat in her arms, but they were at the kitchen in Wardlow instead, and the little beast with his furious orange fur kept trying to break free from her embrace as she tried to put him in the sink. Ridiculous. Nonsense.

 

But then it all changed. The pet was gone, and she wasn’t in her home’s kitchen anymore, or in some random alley. She was somewhere she sometimes unwillingly visited in her sleep, somewhere she had once been years ago. It smelled of blood, dirt, sweat. Death. Hopeless and scared she stumbled around, lost and blinded by the dense, black smoke. She wanted to call out for someone, but she couldn't, for she was- like so many others in desperate times- voiceless. She looked around until she realized where she was and why she had such unpleasant, unsettling feelings about that place. 

 

It was the trenches. 

 

She was back in the trenches. 

 

And then in a violent swirl the setting changed and she was behind the wheel of an old, worse for the wear vehicle. An ambulance. One she was driving recklessly- she didn't know how else to drive. She had learned on the job after all, and there hadn't been any time to learn how to do it carefully. Her first experiences behind a wheel had been driving through horrible mud to reach wounded soldiers skirmish after skirmish, and there had been little preoccupation at the time about traffic signs or other vehicles. 

 

And now Phryne was back there in her dreams, the gunshots ringing in her ears and the cries for help from the fallen men making the hairs on her neck stand. It didn’t matter how much time she spent on that ambulance, how many horrific scenes she witnessed- it never got better, it never had less of an effect. Numbness never took over her emotions, and neither did indifference. The bitter taste of the war on your tongue and lips was one you didn’t grow accustomed to in spite of how many times cruel destiny forced it down your throat. 

Suddenly, she found herself in the back of the ambulance, cradling a soldier in her arms, desperately ignoring the aftermath that a bullet had left through the hole in his head. The soldier reached out for her then, and she looked into his face. It was exactly like Jack’s face!

 

He had his eyes, and his nose, and the same furrows across his brow. His hair was drenched in blood, but had the same golden cowlick that fell adorably over his forehead in the same way. With the last of his strength, he was calling out for her, his voice barely audible. Hoarse. He was in excruciating pain, and even though she tried and tried she knew there was nothing she could do. She refused to stop, though. How could she give up on him? The blood just kept flooding and filling up the ambulance, staining her head and soaking her clothes. She pleaded with him not to die, not to go, not to leave her. How could he leave her? He couldn’t go just yet. He couldn’t do that to her, it couldn’t be happening to her again…

 

And then, he stopped breathing. And all she was left with was a pain so visceral it was as though she was being physically torn apart. She tried to scream, but she realized that she couldn’t, for she was voiceless. Just like the dead man covered in his own blood was now silent. She gathered him in her arms and held him to her chest, trying to grab onto something, anything, before slipping into madness. The lifeless body of the soldier was the only thing she had to anchor her to a world gone insane.

 

She jolted awake abruptly as the echo of her silent scream still reverberated from her dream into her waking consciousness. She had difficulty breathing, and the first few seconds after waking up were as worst as the nightmare. Phryne had to get herself together, think clearly and focus: it had been a nightmare, nothing more. Jack was breathing. She made sure again that he was breathing, just in case. He was. That made her feel relieved, but it didn’t shake off the nerves and anxiety still gripping her heart. She was still worked up, scared to close her eyes in case she saw flashbacks from the dream: the blood, the head wound, the ambulance, he dead soldier that looked exactly like the man whom she cared for the most…

 

It wasn’t the time to be scared, no. It wasn’t the time to be consumed by anxiety. She had to stay strong, focused. She had to remain focused on what was important. On what was right in front of her alert and fully-awake eyes.

 

Phryne rested her head in her hands against the bed near his hand again. Her back and ribs ached for the position, but it was nothing compared to how she was feeling emotionally. She could take any physical pain at the moment, for the sadness and worry over her dear detective inspector cancelled out everything else. 

 

She spent a couple of minutes with her face muffled against the hospital blanket. The fabric felt rough against the smooth skin of her cheek. She was nodding off again, even if she didn’t really want to- she didn’t wish to have any more nightmares, not like the one she had woken up from so shaken moments before. But she was so tired. So, so very tired... 

 

And then she felt it. Something flickered against her messy bob of black hair.

 

A hand.

 

Jack’s calloused yet somehow impossibly soft hand.

 

She lifted her head and found his tender eyes regarding her. 

 

He was awake! Not fully awake, but he was beginning to come to. His eyelids closed against his will, but he was trying to keep them open, fighting against his own body so they’d stay open. So he could look at the face of the woman that was currently sitting by his bedside, grasping his hand in relief with her eyes clouded by tears. 

 

He tried to move his lips, but they were still numb because of the effect of the general anesthesia. Nonetheless, he managed to make a sound.

 

“Ffff…”

 

She knew he was trying to make an attempt to call her name.

 

“Hush, hush, I’m here,” she spoke in whispers that were meant to soothe him, the hand that wasn’t grasping his cupping his cheek. “I’m here, I’m here. Don’t try to talk. I’m here,” she kept reassuring him. “I’m here. You just rest, you’ll be fine. You are fine.”

 

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he let his eyelids win the battle and they simply fell closed again. He drifted away, all the while holding her hand. Phryne clung to his tightly, willing him to anchor himself to life. To this world. To her very own heart that would be the source from which he could draw strength. 

 

Phryne stayed awake, watching over him, replenished with energy and hope after seeing him awake and trying to communicate with her. She hoped he hadn’t worn himself out trying to speak as she ran her finger across his beautiful mouth, There would be time to talk later, lots and lots of time to talk later. Anxious now for very different reasons, she found the cloth again and dripped it into a fresh bowl of warm water. She began to sponge him again with the same care and devotion. When she was finished, she set the bowl and the cloth aside once more and rested her head by his hand. She did not fall asleep, she was too excited about the brief seconds he’d been awake, but she chose to soak up the warmth emanating from a body that was no longer that cold.

 

When he began to stir again after a while, she noticed immediately. Phryne sat up and took his hand in both of hers, gently rubbing her knuckles on his. She felt more impatient in that moment that she had in the last twelve hours- and oh had she been impatient!

 

The wave of relief that washed over her when he opened his eyes and smiled brightly at the sight of her was so powerful it knocked the air out of her lungs.

 

“Oh, I was so worried!” It was the first time she was admitting this out loud. It lifted a weight off of her shoulders. She held his hand up to kiss it. “I was so, so worried. Don’t you dare scare me again like that, you silly man. You hear me? Don’t you dare scare me again like that, Jack Robinson!”

 

His forehead creased slightly, which she noticed immediately.

 

“Are you in pain, Jack?” she was quick to ask. “Should I call a nurse?”

 

“Y-yes,” he winced. Talking seemed to be a rather difficult task to manage at the moment for the inspector. “Y-yes, it-t… it-t hurts… a l-lot.”

 

“I’ll call a nurse, Jack,” Phryne said promptly. But he wouldn’t let go of her hand. He was holding onto it for dear life, desperate to have her near, to feel her skin and her pulsepoint. He didn’t want to lose the feelings of her fingers intertwined with his and neither did she. 

 

“Don’t… d-don’t g-go…” he asked, almost pleaded. “P-please, d-don’t.”

 

His face was still oddly scrunched, and Phryne was beginning to grow alarmed. She understood that he didn’t want her to go, that he wanted her to stay with him- she very much wished the same, she wouldn’t leave his side at the moment for anything in the world if she didn’t think it was entirely necessary. But if he was in pain, then the presence and experience of a nurse, better yet, a doctor, were needed as soon as possible. She had to go fetch someone so they could check on him, make sure everything was all right and that he was well taken care of.

 

“It will just be a minute, Jack, I promise,” she began. “I’ll get the nurse and be right back here by your side. It’ll just be a minute…” She trailed off when she noticed the odd look he was giving him, realizing that it had nothing to do with the physical pain he was in after the ordeal. “What is wrong, Jack?” she asked, the bile in her stomach slowly rising up to her throat and burning it with its acidic sensation. 

 

“I’m…” he tried to speak but the words died on his lips. He shut his eyes tight and swallowed hard, and then he opened them up again and made another attempt at communicating what he was thinking and feeling. “I’m s-so glad you’re h-here…” She smiled tenderly at this.

 

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be, Jack?”

 

“Why d-do y-you… why…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence, for he was interrupted by a fit of coughing. 

 

“Easy, there, there,” she told him. “You don’t have to speak now, Jack.. You have to rest.”

 

He didn’t take her advice and began speaking again anyway. For once, he was not listening to her.

 

And for once, the words from her dear inspector’s mouth made the blood freeze in her veins.

 

“Why d-do you keep calling me Jack? Who is-s Jack?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mac's help, Phryne discovers the extent of Jack's memory loss...and what is required of her to aid in his full recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for giving us your wonderful feedback and comments, despite the fact we are breaking your hearts so much. Well, we are simply following our interpretation of the hurt aspect of this trope challenge ;) Hope this next chapter starts bringing glimpses of hope...and the comfort to eventually arrive!

Doctor MacMillan arrived at the door just in time greet the nurse who had just left the room carrying out a tray containing the remnant shards of white porcelain and a tangled cloth. She had heard the sound of the former washing bowl shattering just as she had reached the top of the ward for her early morning round. And then she panicked as she realised that the bustling commotion of the night duty nurses was coming from none other than the room where Inspector Jack Robinson had been assigned.

 

 _Damn it! What is going on?_ She simply knew she had to reach her patient and her friend as soon as possible. If something were to happen to the inspector… She wholeheartedly hoped that it wouldn't, but when you had lived through a war and had a medical degree hanging on your office wall, hope was nothing but a four letter word.

 

If Jack Robinson hadn’t made it through the night after all then Mac could definitely imagine one of Phryne's potential reactions to include the possibility of her smashing a few things around the room without caring where she was or who she was with. Grief, anger and desperation when faced with the irrevocable loss of a loved one (and yes, to her dear friend the inspector definitely was a loved one) would most certainly overwhelm her and cloud her mind. With her heart and soul taken prisoner by such excruciating pain, the doctor could clearly see her friend going temporarily mad and. wrecking the hospital room. Some shattered porcelain, Mac thought, was nothing compared to a shattered heart.

 

Sending a silent prayer to a God she didn't believe in, she asked for the wisdom and strength to support her friend through the worst, in case it was the worst that had happened.

 

Sprinting the remainder of the way, the doctor slowed her pace to catch her breathe, and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she reached the threshold to see that the bed’s occupant was wide awake. She followed his strickened expression by darting her eyes over to where Phryne Fisher was standing with one arm balancing herself against the the bedside table and its scattered contents. Her friend remained still as a statue with her other hand covering her mouth. Mac registered the shocked expression on her friend’s face, and frowned at the greenish pallor that her skin seemed to have taken on.

 

“Excuse us, Inspector, but we won’t be a moment,” she reassured Jack, as she gently grasped Phryne by the elbow and began to lead her out of the room.

 

The doctor nodded again at the earlier nurse who was just returning with a fresh tray laden with a new washing bowl and cloth as well as another bowl containing a steaming, clear broth. “I’ll be right back momentarily to check on the inspector’s vitals and wounds.” Her colleague nodded as she prepared to feed and tend to their patient.

 

Mac guided a still silent Phryne down the hall to a little alcove by a window where she gently pulled her friend down onto the padded bench before crouching down at her side and taking her cold hand.

 

“Tell me what happened, Phryne,” she prodded gently. “Did he just wake up? Did he say anything to you? Tell me every detail of what happened when he woke up.”

 

 _He must have told her he loves her,_ the red-haired woman thought. _He must have declared his true feelings at long last..._ and oh, the doctor would expect Phryne Fisher to go mad when faced with a love declaration!

 

The strong, independent woman that fought for her freedom more than anything would never be caught dead wearing a wedding ring! And the inspector had to be the marrying kind. The monogamous kind. A traditional, respectable man that worked for the police force would want nothing but exclusivity, and hell would freeze over before the Honourable Phryne Fisher abided by those old-fashioned rules. The socialite would never accept that. It wasn't in her nature. It just wasn't in her blood. The same blood her love for the inspector was now flowing in. Oh, what a contradiction! What a misunderstanding!

 

And all of that happening at the same time when the man in question was laid up in a hospital bed with a hole in the head! The entire ridiculous situation was more than enough to bring on the start of one of Mac’s dreaded headaches. The kind that was inevitably triggered from having to witness her oldest friend’s latest conundrum. She couldn’t help breathing out a little sigh of exasperation as she waited for Phryne to explain.

 

Her friend nodded distractedly, still without speaking a word. Mac squeezed her hand in concern, which prompted her to open her mouth for the first time since Mac had seen her.

 

“He...he...had woken up after I had drifted off to sleep. I tried so hard to stay awake, Mac. But, it didn’t work. I woke up when I felt him touch my head. I’d just nodded off and had woken up from a horrible nightmare. Of being back in the trenches.”

 

Mac grimaced as she watched Phryne squeeze her eyes shut briefly at this admission, knowing the dream’s powerful images wouldn’t have yet retreated completely. She then nodded in understanding before lifting her eyebrows in concern. “I’m not surprised to hear that, Phryne, considering you haven’t rested properly or had a bite to eat since yesterday afternoon most likely?” Phryne nodded slightly, conceding the good doctor’s observation.

 

“He tried to say my name then, Mac, but could only barely make the first sound. I tried to soothe him as best I could, and told him I was there with him before he fell back asleep again,” Phryne continued in a robotic tone. “Then, I willed myself to stay alert, and was ready when he woke up the second time. He was able to speak more this time. He told me he was glad I was here, that he didn’t want me to leave him when I tried to go find a nurse…” she trailed off in uncharacteristic uncertainty as she began to fidget slightly.

 

“That sounds very normal, Phryne,” Mac confirmed. “What happened next? After all, looks like it shocked you enough into destroying our limited hospital supplies.” A ghost of her usual sardonic expression glinted through the doctor’s eyes.

 

“He said that he was in a lot of pain, so I reassured him I would find a nurse or doctor to come assist him.”

 

“Go on, I’m here to do just that now. Tell me what happened?”

 

“He...he...stopped me suddenly when I was trying to comfort him. He asked me who ‘Jack’ was, Mac! He doesn’t remember who he is!”

 

This was worse than what the doctor had imagined. It was worse than a love declaration as a consequence of a death scare. It was far worse than any scenario that Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan’s mind could have conjured up. It could have come straight out of the pages of a bloody penny dreadful!

 

“Oh bloody hell,” Mac muttered, followed by a few more emphatic curses for good measure. No wonder Phryne was in shock. “But, he still remembers who you are?”

 

“I-I think so. He kept smiling at me and telling me he was so glad I was there,” Phryne hunched over suddenly, burying her face into her hands. “What’s going on, Mac? He recognises me, but doesn’t know who he himself is? How is that possible?”

 

Mac reached up to wrap a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulders as her mind quickly sifted through the symptoms described in an attempt to find the cause.

 

“Hmmm, I’ve not come across this type of case before myself, but have read about it extensively in my research,” Mac admitted. “From what I can tell, it sounds like the inspector might be suffering from some type of post-trauma amnesia, or memory loss, which is not at all unusual for this type of head injury.”

 

“Yes, I remember hearing about this happening during the war. Sometimes, the soldiers were so confused that they had to be sent to Switzerland or back home to recover.”

 

“Exactly, lucky bastards in some ways,” Mac agreed, “at least, those whose short-term memory disappeared.” The doctor’s honest observation prompted Phryne to smile slightly then, grateful to have her oldest friend’s presence nearby again. “Before I can draw any further conclusions about the inspector’s case, however, I will need to examine him in order to give a more accurate update on things. So, the best thing to do now is to just play along and find out what he does remember.” Mac held out a hand to pull Phryne back up to her feet, and the two made their way back towards Jack’s room when the doctor stopped suddenly.

“Oh, that also reminds me, in the rush of everything happening so quickly last night, we never did have the opportunity to locate who the inspector’s official next-of-kin or emergency contact person was. I knew it would no longer be Rosie Sanderson, but didn’t have the chance to double check. You wouldn’t happen to know who it would be, would you?”

 

Phryne shook her head as she too began to wonder who Jack would have listed to handle his affairs in the event of an emergency situation. For someone in his line of work, this would be a crucial piece of information. She was determined now to find out as well so she could contact whoever it was personally on his behalf. They deserved to know what had happened after all.

 

She felt a slight pang suddenly at the realisation that there was still so much more to her partner that she simply didn’t know about. Yes, she had once told him that she enjoyed a neverending source of mystery, but she now berated herself for not taking the time to learn more about the essentials because that was what a good friend, partner, and whatever else they were potentially becoming together, would have done. And now, he himself was unable to tell her because he no longer even knew who Jack Robinson was. Somehow, she couldn’t help feeling like she had let him down, which filled her with a strong sense of remorse.

 

She felt that she wouldn't be able to help him fully recover now because she was unable to tell him everything he needed to know because she didn't have the answers herself. And for a cruel, brief second she allowed herself to think that, had the situation been the other way around, he would have been able to tell her exactly everything about her.

 

Both women soon returned to Jack’s room where he had been propped up slightly, and was staring vacantly out the window. Turning at the sound of their approaching footsteps, his eyes and entire countenance lit up at the sight of Phryne as though she were the sun finally emerging after the darkness of the storm. He lifted his hand towards her, which she instinctively returned to his side to take. He grasped hers tightly, holding it up to his lips in greeting.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked her in concern as though he weren’t the one barely recovering from a near fatal head injury. “Were you here all night? Have you had anything to eat yet?”

 

At the sight of Phryne’s tremulous smile in return, Mac decided that it would be best for her to take the lead.

 

“Good morning, Inspec...um, I mean, sir. I’m Dr MacMillan, one of your tending physicians. I’d like to check on your condition. Do you remember meeting me at all?”

 

Pausing to sift through what he could from within his mind, Jack’s expression told the doctor that he recognised her before he opened his mouth to speak.

 

“Yes, I know who you are, Doctor. However, you usually prefer to be called ‘Mac,’and you are also a good friend of my wife’s.”

 

Mac quickly exchanged an unreadable look with Phryne before resuming her examination of Jack’s head. She carefully unwound the bandages before asking him her next question.

 

“Could you please state your name for me? And occupation?”

 

“Yes, of course, Doctor, although you already know that,” the inspector quirked the side of his lip as he looked up at her, missing the expression of dreaded anticipation flickering across Phryne’s features. “I’m Archibald. Archibald Jones. But, most people call me, ‘Archie,’” he grinned widely towards Phryne then, and actually winked at her! “And I am a musician. A jazz pianist, to be exact.”

 

Feeling her knees begin to wobble, Phryne quickly muttered an excuse as she let go of Jack’s hand, and turned to leave the room. Mac looked up and cursed as she gently looked at Jack’s wounds, and then called for a nurse who promptly arrived. “Could you please finish rebinding this. I will be back shortly, er, Mr Jones.”

 

Jack nodded in understanding, a troubled expression still marring his features as he watched Phryne quickly depart from the room. The doctor quickly rinsed her hands at the little sink before stepping out into the corridor and glancing up and down the ward. She quickly spotted her friend who had returned to the previous alcove and was leaning with her forehead against the glass.

 

“Why did he mention his wife, Mac?” Phryne asked when she heard her friend approaching. “Does he mean...Rosie?”

 

“Phryne, listen to me carefully.” Phryne remained silent. “Yes, he’s mentioned a wife, but I don’t think it’s Rosie. After all, he specifically said that he knew I was a good friend of his wife’s. And, frankly, my dear, we both know that Miss Sanderson and I have never even shared a cup of tea together. We should go back in and ask him who his wife is”

 

“If it’s all right with you, Mac,” Phryne began slowly. “I think I’d like to go visit the loo, and let you finish your examination first. I’ll be right here when you’re finished.”

 

Mac silently observed her friend who was still bracing herself against the window pane and nodded, more to herself. She then returned to her patient to complete her check up and examination. When she finished, Mac returned to find Phryne waiting for her at the same spot in the hallway. She suspected that her friend hadn’t even budged whilst the doctor had been gone. She reached out to touch her friend’s arm gently.

 

“Well, what did he say?”

 

“Phryne, listen to me,” Mac waited until her friend turned around to face her. “When I asked Jack to tell me the name of his wife… he told me again that I should already know.”

 

“Mac, get to the point!”

 

“He told me that his wife’s name is ‘Fern,’” Mac said carefully. “And he wondered when she would be returning, and kept trying to look towards the room’s door. Phryne, he was asking if _you_ were all right.” She waited for her words to register.

 

“What?” the lady detective exclaimed loudly. “He thinks his wife’s name is Fern? Why, that’s me! Or, undercover me, anyway!” she added a bit more softly.

 

“Yes, that’s why he recognises you, Phryne,” Mac explained. “He’s also told me that his wife used to go by another name, but barely ever does anymore,” her friend trailed off with a significant look. “Does ‘Lulu Loreeta’ ring a bell?”

 

“Lulu? But...that’s also me,” Phryne scrunched her face up in more bewilderment. “And, he thinks that he’s married to Fern, or Lulu? To me?” She sank down onto the bench as she tried to absorb this unexpected and extraordinary news.

 

“Well, I always told you the subconscious could be a harrowing place! It seems the inspector’s is no exception.”

 

“Mac!”

 

“Look, Phryne,” Mac responded in all seriousness. “Based on the limited knowledge I have about neurological conditions, I do know that everything that happens from now will be crucial for Jack’s full recovery. Especially this early on, when he could still be at major risk of ending up with lasting brain damage.”

 

“What are you saying, Mac?”

 

“I’m saying that due to his disorientation, it seems his injury has caused some significant level of memory loss, as well as a memory ‘scramble,’ if you will. Based on your description and knowledge of the hostage situation, I can only predict that the horrific nature of it has caused Jack’s consciousness of the event to shut down completely,” the doctor switched into lecture mode. “Not only that specific memory, but also everything related in conjunction to the violence he not only witnessed, but became directly impacted by.”

 

Phryne nodded slowly as she absorbed this new information. “Perhaps, that’s why he thinks he is Archie. It was his undercover identity recently, and most likely the memories associated with that case made him happy.” Her own mind quickly recalled images of the two of them singing together at the piano in her parlour, the memory tugging a tiny smile to her own lips.

 

“Yes, that would make sense. He seems to be experiencing some psychological repression from the trauma he sustained, and can only remember his most pleasant memories. He informed me again that it was through his piano career that he met you, or, Lulu, specifically, when you still worked on stage as a singer and dancer.”

 

“Mac, how long could this repression and memory loss last?”

 

“It’s difficult to say for certain,” the doctor hurried on at her friend’s impatient glare. “I can’t recall exact research numbers at the moment, but I do recall the smallest amount of traumatic brain injury patients usually experienced memory loss anywhere from a few hours to a day. Around one quarter regained their memories between a week and a month.”

 

“And the majority group? How long did they experience it for?”

 

“That, I do recall, since it was the largest percentage. I remember learning at this medical convention I attended in Oxford that about forty-five percent of patients recovering from traumatic brain injury had amnesia for longer than a month.”

 

“So, Jack might not remember who he is...or could believe that I am his wife for the next month...or longer?”

 

“I’m afraid so, Phryne,” Mac nodded, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’ve already been acknowledging to everyone around here that you’re his wife. And that you’re already more than just fond of him. Now, you must keep up appearances for a while longer. For the inspector’s sake.”

 

The inspector.

 

Phryne didn’t reply as she then realised that this would be one of the most crucial undercover undertakings of her life. Now, it was even more vital that she not slip up if she ever hoped to recover the one man that she now knew meant more to her than any other.

 _  
Her _ inspector.

  
_Her_ Jack.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven't forgotten about this story, or about you! In this chapter, Phryne learns more about who Jack, or Archie, thinks they are. Enjoy!

It was one of the strangest weeks in Phryne Fisher’s life, to say the least. And the weeks before that one had not all been exactly ordinary and plain. The woman was a private detective and owned an aeroplane, for Pete’s sake! But nothing compared to this experience.

 

If there was one thing she’d never thought she’d have to be, it was someone’s wife. Someone else’s to have and to hold until death did they part. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real, and that she was just playing a role. She had had to pretend being things and other people she might never be in her actual life before - sometimes for cases, sometimes for her own benefit. This felt different, though. It wasn’t for a case. It wasn’t for a client. There wasn’t a thief to catch, or a murder to solve. The puzzle was inside Detective Inspector Jack Robinson’s mind this time. _He_ was the case. And, for the sake of his full recovery, she had to play along with this odd (albeit fascinating) _reality_ that he believed they were living in: he was Archibald Jones, her name was Fern, and they were married.

 

_Married._

 

She did try not to think about the implications behind this parallel world her partner’s mind had conjured up. Phryne didn’t have the physical or emotional strength to do so. And for once, she was choosing to ignore the doubts trying to plant seeds in the back of her mind to only focus on helping her friend, her partner...her inspector get better.

 

So if the doctors said it’d be less shocking and more positive for his recovery that she played house with him, then so be it. She’d be what she’d never thought to call herself while she was in her right mind. She’d become someone's wife. Archie’s wife.

 

Her inspector, her Jack, was no longer Jack. But he was still hers. He was convinced his name was Archie and that he had once played the piano at a nightclub she had been working in at the time. That was where they had met and fallen in love, and apparently it was also the place they had vowed to get away from as soon as they could save enough money to start a new life, the vices and dangers of a life devoted to the jazz scene having become more than what they’d originally bargained in for. It was an elaborate story, and Phryne found herself willing to learn more about it, as odd as that might sound. She couldn’t just ask him, of course, for she was supposed to have been there, and her head had not been impacted by a bullet so she wasn’t suffering from any memory alteration disorder that justified her asking “Archie” to tell her about how their marriage had come to be.

 

She had managed to get some information out of this “version” of Jack, though. She had her ways. Phryne would usually sit by his hospital bed and read out loud to him from books he’d mentioned were his preferred reading choice (surprisingly, or not, most were Jack’s usual favourites), and every time she could she would sneak in a question. “Just to make sure your memory is not damaged, Archie, the doctor said doing these exercises could be helpful,” she would wink at him in her customary cheeky manner. He had bought her act, of course. The man was in awe of his “wife”, his dear “Fernie” as he liked to call her. He trusted her implicitly, and that was something this jazz pianist and the detective inspector seemed to have in common.

 

They had told him he’d gotten caught up in a robbery-gone-wrong on his way home from work. Phryne told him he had been a hero because he had saved two little boys. Somehow, she wanted Jack to know that right away. She instinctively felt that he needed to know this crucial truth of the actions he could not (or his mind would not) recall. After all, he, or Archie, currently believed that he imparted piano lessons to institutionalised children in orphanages, apparently. Phryne found hope in this tiny kernel, this trace of her inspector’s deep sense of compassion towards the vulnerable manifesting itself through Archie’s profession, even if she couldn’t help but wonder where it was all coming from and taking shape in his mind. In fact, he spoke fondly of a life they supposedly shared, of old stories and anecdotes where it seemed to be them against the world. Them against all odds.

 

“We beat the odds, Fernie, you and I,” he had told her one night while she had been helping the nurse change his bandages.

 

He had shared very clear, very elaborate details of their relationship before signing off their souls to be forever tied one to the other with God’s blessings! The woman Phryne was in his eyes had been financially struggling when they had met, as had he, and they had worked sun to dusk to make their way through the world. They had known hardship together, and then they had breathed a sigh of relief when her family had inherited a title somewhere in England, and, as a result, more money than they had ever dreamed of having had come their way.

 

“At least I won’t have to dress any differently than I usually do,” Phryne thought. The Joneses seemed to now enjoy the same luxuries and accommodations the Fishers did, and instead of working in the night scene and every other job they could find to make ends meet, they were now dedicated to helping others. Archie taught music to disadvantaged children, and Fern - now a sophisticated and titled heiress -collaborated with and supported several charities.

 

“Interesting story your detective’s got there,” Mac had commented.

 

“It is amazing what the human mind can come up with…” Phryne had said. She had been secretly wondering whether Fernie still resembled “Lulu Loreeta” when with her husband under the sheets. She certainly hoped so anyway.

 

“Or the human heart.”

 

Yes, for her sake and the inspector’s she would be better off not dwelling too much on those thoughts. It had been one thing considering her feelings for him _after_ her decision to invite him to dinner and _before_ he woke up from his medical procedure. But now it was another. He believed they had an intimate, profound connection and that they had helped each other overcome all sorts of trials and tribulations. (And hadn't they as Phryne and Jack? Yes. But not as a married couple. Not as these people.) The man she knew, and was partners with, was now lost somewhere in the mind of a former jazz pianist whose perception of the world and of his “wife” had very little to do with the pirate girl from Collingwood and the Shakespeare enthusiast. Or was he?

 

By the time a whole week had passed since that night Jack Robinson had survived a tragedy only to wake up convinced that he was someone else, the Honourable Phryne Fisher had gotten used to the idea that she needed to be whomever this Archie Jones person needed her to be. And in this case, he needed her to be Fernie, the expert fan dancer. Adventurous, and independent, and a little bit unconventional, open-minded and a liberal. The woman he had fallen in love with.

 

Those had been his exact words earlier that week she recalled after coaxing him to tell her their love story. “You know how I delight in hearing it over and over again, darling!” In spite of her exaggerated tones, she remembered feeling a very real gush of emotion surge deep down inside at the adoring look he had given her in return before launching into his tale:

 

_We beat the odds, Fernie, you and I. The shy, conservative man that ends up playing the piano at a jazz club, and all sort of dubious party establishments because it’s the only way he can pay the rent at the end of the month, and the expert fan dancer - adventurous, independent, a little bit unconventional, open-minded and very liberal - inevitably meet, fall in love and run away together. And somehow, they live to tell the tale._

 

Phryne didn’t miss the fact that it was, in fact, their story - the _real_ one - twisted in a way that left room for a lot of questions she did not have the strength, or the time, to look for the answers to. She wasn’t a professional fan dancer, and he wasn’t a pianist, and they hadn’t eloped. But except for those details (she was indeed independent, and did have an unconventional profession, whereas he was more conservative, and had a conventional career) it was all them.

 

_Fall in love and run away together. Elope._

 

Scratch the part about eloping, yes, please, thank you very much. But the falling in love part?

 

Yes, that was a puzzle she might have been ready to work on during the previous week when they were both still a daring lady detective and a noble policeman. But now? With the mess they were in? No, thank you, she’d pass on anything that couldn’t be handled day by day, moment by moment.

 

_Carpe diem._

 

It was the one remaining aspect of herself as Phryne Fisher that she had to fight to keep. Not just for her own sanity, but so she could continue to be strong. For Jack. For them.

 

“I am happy to be going home.”

 

Jack’s voice (she refused to call him Archie in the privacy of her mind) lured her out of the silent debate she was having with herself. He was dressed in his normal suit and overcoat that Mr. Butler had retrieved from the detective inspector’s house, and moved to Wardlow per Phryne’s instruction. She had chosen that one out of the inspector’s wardrobe absentmindedly, only to notice later that it was the very same suit he had been wearing the day they had first met at Lydia Andrews’ home. Perhaps it was her subconscious trying to show her that this was, in a way, a new beginning. Another first time.

 

He had commented on the clothing, not recognizing the suit as something he would normally wear. Phryne made a mental note to enlist Dot to help her find woolen vests, jumpers and dress shirts like the ones she could recall Jack had donned whilst he had been working undercover as Archibald Jones at the radio station. He was wearing his “suit of armour”, nonetheless, more than eager to return home with his wife and get away from the hospital and the nurses and their constant poking him with needles to get blood samples.

 

He was going home with her. To Wardlow. He was convinced he lived there _with her._  According to the fictional world he had weaved together using scraps from what Phryne referred to in her head as the real world, they had bought the St. Kilda home after her family had become wealthy, and they had been living there ever since. He remembered Dot, and Mr. Butler, and the cabbies. He remembered Hugh, too, although in this “alternate world,” he was the very sweet, very shy lad that their maid had met at church and used to step out with. Curiously, Phryne immediately noted how Jack never mentioned that Hugh was a constable, let alone one with the Victoria Police. Again, she pushed back the niggling fears that hovered on and off about how this crucial aspect of Jack’s life had just basically vanished from his consciousness. And, she wasn’t sure whether this was something she could accept, especially if the inspector was never able to recall this aspect of his life or identity again at all. Again, she had to push all these weighty concerns to that locked chest in her mind that she would only delve into once she could survive this moment first.

 

With the help of Cec and Bert, Mr. Butler had moved key items of Jack’s belongings to Wardlow. His favorite books, clothes, even his favorite armchair and desk, were now tucked into 221B, The Esplanade as if they had always belonged there, especially because the man himself believed that was where he belonged.

 

And Mac and Jack’s other doctors agreed that for the time being it was better if everyone could do their best to keep up the pretense of this remarkable story that the inspector’s mind had taken refuge in momentarily (they hoped). The medical experts were very strict about the dangers of post-traumatic experiences and their unknown and unpredictable effects upon the human brain. Thus, instead of forcing Jack to face that no, he wasn’t Archibald Jones, he didn’t use to play the piano at dubious jazz establishments, and no, he wasn’t the husband of the beautiful and exotic “Lulu Loreeta”, they had to embrace it in order to save the man they had all come to highly regard, openly or not. After all, the reason he had had a near death experience was because he had failed to save a woman from her violent, drunk husband in a hostage situation where two children had been also threatened by their own father at gunpoint.

 

“He must be shielding himself from the consequences of such a traumatic situation,” Mac had explained. “It isn't unheard of, especially in soldiers. Neuroscience still is a very new field of study, but there is an incredible number of defense mechanisms the brain can set in motion after a traumatizing event. There was this Swiss so-called specialist that would confront the patients with the truth, but the results weren't good. Some of them even ended up killing themselves.”

 

This conclusion alone was more than enough to ensure everyone’s utmost cooperation. Even that of Aunt Prudence after she had found out about the entire affair. Of course, she had been predictably scandalized at the thought of her niece having to pose as the wife of someone else, especially a policeman! But, just as Phryne had always known to be the case, the prickly woman had acquiesced in the end after Dr. MacMillan’s chilling warning.

 

 _You are not lying to him, you are protecting him_ , was thus the mantra Phryne repeated over and over. She couldn’t bear the thought of  Jack possibly getting hurt, whether by his own confused mind, or her not so little schemes. It had been an excruciatingly draining week for her that had extended to more than keeping Jack company at the hospital and taking care of him (he really didn't like the nurses, especially that horrible Nurse Heller, and she didn't like them either.)

 

Alongside all these matters, Phryne had also been occupied with other matters that needed solving before they discharged him. Helping the hospital locate the inspector’s next-of-kin had been one of those urgent matters. The day after Jack had first woken up, Phryne had the opportunity to speak to an understandably still shaken Hugh when she had returned home that evening for some rest and a change of fresh clothes. The younger man had been given a couple days leave to recover from the hostage raid, and so that his serious hand and arm injury could heal. But, he was due back shortly, and Constable Collis was more than eager to do whatever he could to support his superior officer who had nearly been slain in the line of duty.

 

“Do come by later tonight and have dinner with Dot, Hugh. And oh, when you do, could you please be a dear and bring along the inspector’s personnel file from the station? I’ve been trying to assist the hospital locate his next-of-kin.”

 

As it turned out, apparently a second cousin with whom Jack mainly kept in touch with via an obligatory annual Christmas card had replaced Rosie Sanderson when she became the former Mrs Robinson (Jack didn't have much family). The second cousin lived in Sydney, though, and despite being obviously concerned about the news of his cousin’s injury and state of amnesia, there was nothing more that he felt he could do.

 

“Actually, Jack telephoned me about a month or so ago to tell me that he was going to remove my name as his next-of-kin,” his cousin had helpfully informed her after she had telephoned him with the news herself. “He said that he thought it would be more practical to change it to someone else he trusted and had contact with on a regular basis. You know, right there in the same city and all. So, of course, I agreed that that made sense.”

 

But, Jack had never informed his cousin of who he had replaced him with. It wasn’t until Phryne had ventured to the inspector’s home and searched his study there that she discovered where he kept his personal files. Needless to say, she had been more than pleased to discover the inspector had recently listed her, Phryne Fisher, as his next-of-kin in a recent change he'd made. According to the dates in the file, it hadn't been right after his divorce. She had sat down at that point as she realised the fact that Jack had made the decision the very same day after she and the others had been kidnapped and almost sold into slavery on the Pandarus ship.

 

It had to be a coincidence. But somehow, she knew deep down that it wasn’t. That was the same night, possibly even morning, when he had come by her house so late. To tell her, and most likely, try to show her (she cursed Aunt Prudence’s ill-timing for the millionth time) that even if his ex-wife had needed him, that Phryne was definitely whom he had wanted to be with that night.

 

And that was all she was determined to think about said subject for the moment. The reasons for his decision to make her his next-of-kin, and the reasons for him not telling her about it, would have been of great interest to her under other circumstances, and in another time.

 

For now, she needed to focus on getting him well again. Getting him back to his usual self again.

 

Not by being his next-of-kin. But by being his wife.

  
By becoming Mrs Fernie Jones.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being discharged from hospital, Archie and Fernie return home to Wardlow where everyone attempts to settle into some semblance of a routine...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so touched as ever by the lovely and heartfelt messages regarding this fic, and where we've been taking it. It's very different from anything else we've tried before so your ongoing encouragement means so much! 
> 
> Unfortunately, real life has been slamming us both of late, so it's been lovely to have our fic writing to retreat to when we can!
> 
> Hope you also enjoy this latest installment that we've been working feverishly to get to you! Can't wait to find out what you think of it!

In spite of how well he was physically recovering, Mac had given Phryne full instructions on how to keep an eye out for any slight anomalies or manifestations that could appear in the crucial next few weeks to come.

 

“Just because he _appears_ to be fine or functioning normally, darling,” her friend had told her repeatedly, “isn’t necessarily a sign that he is. It could still be just that, an appearance of normality. The human brain is remarkable in terms of its coping mechanisms, so be vigilant with him.”

 

The doctor then gave her friend a knowing look to Phryne’s (as of yet) unspoken question.

 

“And don’t allow him to overexert himself...in the slightest! Or be tempted to overexert him yourself, especially with any nocturnal activities,” the redhead had warned her.

 

Phryne had wrinkled her nose at that. Was Mac seriously suggesting she would attempt, or allow Jack to attempt engaging in any kind of sexual activity? Notwithstanding the complexities of his current medical limitations, the detective was affronted that her friend could even suggest she’d try taking advantage of his psychological ones. Although, Phryne really couldn’t blame Mac for her double-layered warning. After all, it was no secret to either woman that Phryne wanted to experience so much more with the inspector  than their partnership and friendship presented with ever lingering nightcaps after solving murder cases. Even before this point, Phryne knew Mac wasn’t blind to her initial attraction to the inspector’s strong presence (and jawline), or that it had gradually deepened over the past year. But, she did feel rather insulted that the doctor could even suggest that she would try something now to wrangle her way in this regard. No, if the nature of the detectives’ unspoken agreement was ever to change, it wouldn’t happen while he believed they were a married couple that didn’t even go by their real names or have the same professions!

 

She couldn’t, no, she wouldn’t, lie to him like that. What kind of person would it make her if she allowed their first intimate encounter to be under the delusion that they were a couple that had fought against the world, together, to get where they were now? No, if they ever made love, it would be as Phryne and Jack, not the alter egos his mind had created after the traumatic experience at the Lornes’ house.

 

“At least until I say so!” Mac had concluded with another meaningful glare before she finished signing Jack’s official hospital discharge papers. It was as if the red-headed woman knew something would inevitably happen between them, independently of how hard Phryne tried to keep the inspector at arm’s length like he had done to her for the past year or so. Hmm, perhaps it wasn’t always the best thing to have one’s oldest friend in charge of one’s (or one’s partner’s) medical care in this case. Phryne had silently, but affectionately, glared back with a summary of her fiery thoughts burning in her eyes in the way only decades of friendship could allow. The doctor simply smirked at the rebuttal and nodded her apologies for her assumptions before sliding the paperwork over across her desk for Phryne to sign. As she swirled her name across the lines, Phryne allowed the image of the dark ink to imprint the reality of her new responsibilities onto her mind, chasing away the shadows of uncertainty trying to gather at the edges upon her consciousness.

 

Even with her friend’s gentle scolding (since Mac knew Phryne’s medical training-under-fire in France had been second to none), the doctor knew Phryne understood the ramifications of Jack’s medical needs. It certainly showed in the way Miss Fisher had seen to every detail when she made sure to arrange for absolutely everything possible to ensure he would only have the best care possible upon his arrival at Wardlow. For instance, once they had discovered that one of his legs was giving him trouble when he had felt strong enough to attempt to stand, she had asked Mr Butler and Dot to convert one of the main floor rooms into a room that Jack could use until he was able to use the stairs with more ease. The last thing any of them wanted was for the inspector to topple down them accidentally, and thus, risk cracking open his poor recovering skull again!

 

And, her household had all done a marvellous job of creating a homey space downstairs filled with the inspector’s desk, books and belongings, even if he couldn’t recognise them all at the moment (“Yes, darling, you’re very fond of Zane Grey!”). Jack was still assigned to mainly bedrest for at least the next several weeks with regular intervals permitted for him to stroll to the parlour or dining room to take meals when he felt the energy for it. Whenever possible, Phryne also arranged for him to retreat to the garden for sun and fresh air under the guidance of one of the family, or a hired, private nurse (who specialised in aftercare for wealthier patients).

 

Phryne had also made a point to ask Mr Butler and Dot to turn away all potential clients and cases so she could focus on Jack’s well-being at the moment. During moments when he would be napping or resting, she applied herself to looking after his personal affairs. This invariably took up the form of liaising regularly with Russell Street with updates on his condition, replying to his correspondence (including a brief, yet reassuring response to Rosie Sanderson’s alarmed letter after she had heard the news), and hiring a housekeeper and gardener to look after his house in the meantime. She felt it was the least she could do to ensure her inspector could easily ease back into his life...whenever he finally remembered it.

 

Thus, for the time being, the Fisher household quickly settled into a regular pattern again with their long-term visitor and faux “master of the house,” ensconced mostly in his own space. Phryne remained by his side as much as possible throughout the day, and by his bedside by night, especially during the first week until he had quickly put a stop to her nightly vigils. In spite of all the extra hands onboard to help care for his needs, she still could not rest easily during those hours when the rest of the world slept. She was still too afraid that he could slip away from her.

 

“Fernie, you’re wearing yourself out, my darling,” he had commented one morning as they enjoyed a delicious breakfast together in the dining room. “I can’t bear to see you overly exhausting yourself this way.”

 

“But, Archie…” she had begun to protest until he had raised a hand to cup her cheek, nearly reverently, as though he were holding the most fragile and sacred of objects. The gesture made her stop mid-sentence. For someone as tactile as Phryne was, she was still getting used to his displays of affection. They were small gestures here and there: he’d cup her face, rub his knuckles against the palm of her hand, lace his fingers with her. But they always caught her by surprise, especially when she was off guard, although his actions were always more than welcomed. “I just want to ensure that you’re mending properly.”

 

He then frowned as he stroked a thumb gently over the dark ring beneath her eye that make-up couldn’t hide from his observant scrutiny. She couldn’t help nuzzling into his reassuring touch.

Amidst the chaos that had taken them prisoners since the night of the hostage situation, his touch had become an anchor of sorts for her. The man now living in her home could believe he was someone named Archibald Jones, he could believe he was a pianist and have no recollection whatsoever of his brilliant career as a policeman. He could believe they had met when she’d been working as a fan dancer. He could believe whatever the bloody hell his mind was tricking him to perceive as the truth. But whether he thought he was Archie and she was Fern, whether he ever remembered they were Jack and Phryne, his touch was still the same. It felt the same. And, she clung to this truth that essentially, this was because whatever the state of his mind, she could still feel the essence of the same man that had made her fall in love with him when the last thing on her mind had been falling for anyone.

 

“Fernie, I’ll be fine. I know that Dot or Mr Butler are not far away, and that Nurse Greene is also available. I love having you with me always, you know this, but you also need to rest. And to continue with your usual activities when I’m not laid up with an injury. I won’t allow your charity work to suffer on account of me.”

 

He had then leaned over then to give her a sweet and gentle kiss that tasted of butter (without garlic this time, she couldn’t help inwardly smiling) and coffee (she never realised that he drank the dark brew...or maybe only Archie did?). She had then beamed at him like a silly school girl, the feeling remaining with her throughout the rest of their meal and long after she had climbed the stairs eventually to her boudoir for a much needed nap. She had to concede Jack’s admonishment about her not becoming overly exhausted, grateful to know his deductive skills were still intact.

 

But, even after she had settled under her covers, Phryne had continued to toss and turn, wrestling over a myriad of thoughts, not the least of which were the conflicting emotions that even his simple kiss had sprung open inside her. It had brought back in full force similar feelings she had bottled up and only examined during stolen moments by herself after their only actual kiss thus far. That one had certainly made her greedy for more despite the frustratingly slow dance that he and she had continued to do around each other. Now, his kisses (and much, much more) were ready for her to feast upon...but for once, she halted at the sense of the forbidden since it also came with an unmistakable sense of foreboding. Both of which would normally spur her onward instead.

 

But, no, not now, she would hold back and remain strong for Jack and his sense of honour. Yes, she might be playing the role of Archie’s wife, and held all decision-making power as Jack’s next-of-kin. But, within this underlying tempo of their intricate waltz, Phryne knew that she would have to tread delicately without the risk of destroying the deeply embedded trust of their entire relationship in the process. And on that note, she managed to fall into a continued fitful doze until Dot had awoken her in the afternoon to ask if she wanted to take luncheon with the inspector, er, with “Mr Archie”?

 

They had spent a delightful afternoon sitting together on the back patio as Archie regaled her with a few more tales of their past adventures. He told her how he missed the sights and smells of the seaside, and wondered when they could revisit their holiday cottage in Queenscliff again. She had reassured him that as soon as Mac approved it, they would head there again soon, whilst inwardly reliving a few of her favourite memories of their actual time spent in that very same seaside town.

 

“I especially loved the swimming costume you wore during our most recent trip,” he had added with a playful wink. “Will you remember to bring it along again as well? In fact, I think you might have to air it out again a lot sooner than that.”

 

She had laughed wholeheartedly at the mischievous expression in his eyes, delighted to learn that apparently, Jack too had obviously stored away memories of their adventure there. Even if she was hearing about them now through Archie’s version of the events. As much as she did enjoy this freer version of her normally much more reserved partner, it also served to remind her how much she missed that aspect of him as well.

 

Later that evening, Phryne’s sense of resolve began to waiver, however, when she had gone downstairs to help the nurse change Jack’s bandages and check his wound before bedtime. Sensing this, he had grasped her hand tightly, trying not to wince against the pain that became worst in the evenings until he could have his next dose of pain-controlling medication.

 

“Go on up, my darling,” he intoned. “I’ll be absolutely fine, even though I’ll be missing you even in my sleep.”

 

She had then leaned over to place a light goodnight kiss onto his freshly bandaged forehead, and was about to pull away when she changed her mind and leaned back down to press her lips against his in a lingering one instead. He responded immediately and they remained caught up in pouring out their yearning to the other until a slight cough from the doorway prompted them to pull apart. Phryne glanced up into Mr Butler’s understanding expression as he carried in a tray with something steaming from a ceramic mug that Jack had always been partial to whenever he had had a hot drink at Wardlow.

 

“Your warm milk, sir,” Mr B entered and placed the tray onto the bedside table. “Whenever you’re ready for it, of course. Your tea is in the kitchen, madam.” Phryne tried not to smile at this slight, yet noticeable form of address change since they all knew they couldn’t continue to address her as they normally would, especially within Jack’s presence.

 

“You’re an angel, Mr B,” Phryne had responded with a genuine smile. “I’ll wait until you’ve finished yours first though, Archie.” But, he had good-naturedly waved her way, again wishing her a good night with sweet dreams.

 

“I’ll remain with Mr Jones until you’ve had yours, madam,” to which the lady of the house felt she had no choice, but to leave them be.

 

Later that night, however, Phryne once again found herself unable to sleep. She simply couldn’t contain the flood of anxiety threatening to overwhelm her even though logically, she knew Jack was perfectly safe and being cared for downstairs by Nurse Greene. He was fine, and he had asked her to try to rest tonight. After another half hour had passed though, she resolutely sat up and faced the facts. She simply wasn’t going to be able to get any rest because she was still not satisfied that Jack was all right until she could see him with her own eyes. At least, that was what she told herself, not confronting the reality that she also simply missed him. With that decided, the lady detective slipped on the first silk robe she could find and silently tiptoed her way down the stairs. She then steered herself through the parlour towards the back corridor until she reached the door to Jack’s room.

 

The door remained opened for increased ventilation and so the room could be more accessible (just in case). She stopped at the entrance, and paused to nod towards the nurse, who looked up from her embroidery, and then stood up quickly when she realised who was there. Putting her needle and thread down onto the side table, Nurse Green quickly joined her employer to give her an update on the status of her husband’s condition.

 

“He’s been a lot more fitful during his sleep tonight, Mrs Jones,” the middle-aged woman began.

 

“What do you mean? Is he in pain?”

 

“Oh no, at least, he shouldn’t be since he had a good dose of medication. What I meant is that he’s been tossing and turning more. And talking out loud. In his sleep.”

 

Immediately intrigued, Phryne stepped towards Jack’s bedside. As though sensing her presence, he turned towards her whilst remaining fast asleep.

 

“Thank you, Nurse Greene, I’ll remain with him for the rest of the night now. Please go ahead and return to your room and rest. You’ll still be compensated, of course, for a full night’s shift.”

 

“Thank you, madam,” the nurse responded. “Please do not hesitate to come fetch me should anything change.”

 

Phryne nodded absent-mindedly, only turning to see the nurse out of the room, before she shut the door firmly behind her. Then, she quickly returned to Jack’s bedside, reaching out to trail her fingers across his upturned cheek. He lifted his hand slightly and clutched at the silky material of her robe then. She covered his hand to reassure him before lifting the doona, and sliding into the bed next to him, being careful to not jolt him about too much. He brought up his other arm to drape over her, running his hand up and down her side, making her go breathless slightly. She tilted her head up then and kissed him lightly on his chin as he began to still gradually. With her head burrowed against his chest, Phryne too, eventually slipped into a dreamless slumber, lulled by the comforting beating of his heart and finally giving in to her utter exhaustion.

 

Towards the dawn, the lady detective sensed movement next to her as Jack began to fidget and then thrash about suddenly. Phryne immediately opened her eyes and leaned up on one elbow, assessing his bandages that were still in place. She reached up to brush the curl resting on his forehead, but paused when he began to mutter something incoherent in an anxious tone.

 

“Shhhh, I’m here now, Jack,” she immediately responded without thinking. “I’m right here.”

 

His tensed features immediately relaxed at the sound of her voice. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered faintly.

 

“Of course not, darling,” she again soothed him. “Never again. I’m right here with you.”

 

“Where were you? I couldn’t find you,” he continued, a note of alarm still tingeing his voice and bunching up his still sleeping features. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

 

“I told you, I’m right here,” she again soothed him, stroking his face again whilst inching in closer against his side, breathing in his familiar scent intermingled with anti-septic and the pine-scented soap she had chosen for him. “See, like I said, I’m here now, darling. I’m not going anywhere else. Go back to sleep.”

 

And she meant it. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not for the foreseeable future, and perhaps even longer. The woman that had spent most of her adult life running away from any sort of relationship that tied her to anything - someone, someplace, something - because she wanted to be assured she always had the option of getting up and leaving if she so wished to do so, that same woman was now promising from the bottom of her heart that she wasn’t going to leave. She didn’t want to leave him. If she could choose, she realised, she’d stay right there where she was. Scary as it was, there was nowhere else she wished she could go. She was happy right there and then, listening to the beat of his heart.

 

Suddenly, he clutched at her tightly with both of his arms, pulling her to him in relief and burying his nose against her hair. And, she didn’t feel imprisoned or restrained. She didn’t feel trapped, tied down, or suffocated under the weight of profound, meaningful emotions. She felt safe, safer than she’d ever been in all of her life. It wasn’t that she couldn’t fend for herself: ever since she had been a child Phryne had known very well that it’d always be up to her to stand up for what she believed in. But with Jack, she’d always felt something she’d never experienced before in her life, something she could barely explain with words, but could readily feel in every inch of her body, and in every beat of her heart.

 

To think that there was a time after the war, several years ago, when a man’s embrace had made her feel threatened. To the extent that she had vowed to never let anyone get that close again as a mechanism to protect herself. And now, it was in the embrace of a completely different man - a noble and honourable one - that she felt far safer and happier than she’d ever thought possible (especially as an independent woman who usually considered herself to be very happy and safe).

 

With these heartwarming thoughts wrapping about her, she began to drift off when she heard his voice as it vibrated throughout his chest:

 

“Don’t leave me again, Miss Fisher,” he whispered before going still.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life continues in the lives of Archie and Fernie...until Phryne has to wrestle with some new developments, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are sorry for the delay! But we hope you find in it your hearts to forgive us after you read this chapter! And of course we promise you a new one soon! Enjoy!

Several weeks had passed since the night Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had emerged for the first time from the dense fog that clouded the mind of a man that thought himself to be Archibald Jones, a former jazz pianist and now adoring, devoted husband. He had been asleep at the time, and the words coming out of his mouth had been nothing but unconsciousness whispers he’d had no memory of the following morning. But they were proof that the man everyone at Wardlow had come to know and appreciate (and in the case of one bohemian socialite, _love_ ) was still there.

 

One late afternoon, the Honourable Miss Fisher breezed through her front door with a cheery step.

 

“Darling, I’m home!” She announced her return in a half-sung tone that essentially transformed her back into Mrs Fernie Jones.

 

She plopped her handbag unceremoniously onto a side table, and reached for her hat pin before flinging the cloche onto the empty hook by the door. Her fingers trailed a quick caress to the brown fedora resting on “ _his”_ hook next to hers.

 

“I’m in the study,” Jack’s slightly muffled voice reached her just as Mr Butler stepped into the entry hall carrying a tray with what looked like more than enough for tea for two.

 

“I’ll take it, Mr B,” she offered with an affectionate smile when she spotted one of her favourite china cups nestled into next to Jack’s favourite one.

 

“Very good, miss,” the dear man quietly intoned for her ears only. “Dorothy is just finishing another batch of the inspector’s favourite scones now that one of us will bring in later if either of you so wish.”

 

Phryne again smiled gratefully as she took the tray and went in search of the aforementioned man whom her family still referred to as “the inspector” out of his hearing. At least his legendary appetite had returned in full force to everyone’s delight, especially since it had obviously been helping in his physical recovery. His head wounds had healed so well that he no longer required any bandaging now. He could now stand and walk longer distances, which made short trips to the foreshore or botanical gardens more manageable. During the past few days, he had even taken to climbing the stairs at least once or twice a day under Phryne’s close eye. Nurse Green still came during the day to ensure “the master’s” medication and other medical needs were still taken care of. Overall, everyone was delighted with the inspector’s progress.

 

Only Phryne and Mac knew about his recovery on another level. After that first night when he had unmistakably uttered her name, the lady detective had hunted down her best friend soon as she could get away from the house the very next morning. Mac was more than encouraging with her speculation that it sounded like Inspector Robinson may have started to regain his memory, albeit during his sleep.

 

“I know this is a really positive sign, Phryne,” the doctor had cautiously taken her friend’s good news. “But, his mind is still in an extremely delicate space right now. And, until he starts showing more memory recognition whilst conscious, you must still tread very carefully.”

 

Phryne knew this, and really did try to keep up appearances during the day that they were happily married as Mr and Mrs Jones. But, she also increasingly began to crave the evenings and especially the nights when her mask as Fernie could slip slightly, and Archie transformed into her Jack again. She had continued to spend each night in his arms waiting for the magic hour when he recognised her as his Miss Fisher again. She knew it was a dangerous game to play, especially for the sake of her heart and emotions. Not to mention the fact that Mac’s warning did manage to stubbornly remain in her mind, particularly during those tantalising and tempting moments when she wished she could give in to Jack’s increasingly addictive nocturnal kisses and caresses. Even though she enjoyed being Mrs Fernie Jones (a surprising turn of events she had yet to analyse), it was all still just an act. One of the longest that she’d ever had to sustain. So it was little wonder she couldn’t help longing for those precious pockets of twilight when she could connect to her Jack Robinson again.

 

Along with his appetite, other telltale traits of her partner had begun to manifest themselves through his conscious alter ego. For instance, the lady detective could tell that Jack’s sharp observational and deductive skills had returned. He had started to pay closer attention to incidents reported in the news, either via radio, and especially what he could follow in the newspaper.

 

At first, it was simple things like pointing out facts he felt the reporter or the investigators had overlooked on simpler cases such as burglary or fraud. In the following weeks, he began to show greater interest in any major crimes reported to the point where he would eagerly pounce on poor Hugh whenever he came to visit (which was often, to see both his sweetheart as well as his boss). Archie had worked out that their maid’s beau was a constable, even though Hugh had studiously avoided mentioning the fact or talking about anything remotely related to the station or his current casework in line with Dr MacMillan’s dire warnings. Phryne knew she had better intervene before Hugh either blurted out something detrimental to his unawares superior, or went into his own mental decline from the pressure of not being able to reveal any police-related information at all.

 

“Archie darling,” she had told him over breakfast a few days ago. “You know how you’ve become so adept at working out puzzles again recently?” She had watched in admiration as he had just mastered yet another crossword, something she now learned Jack had grown rather fond of in the trenches after the new puzzles had begun circulating throughout newspapers around the start of the Great War. “Would you like to assist me with one or two that I’ve come across?”

 

He had immediately put his pencil down at that before taking another sip of his tea and piercing her with one of the inspector’s quintessential eyebrow query expressions. Phryne couldn’t help reaching out to squeeze his free hand at the sight of the familiar look.

 

“Well, you know how I often assist with many of Aunt Prudence’s charity events that so many of her friends are also involved in?” She continued at his nod. “It turns out that sometimes, they come to me for assistance on other matters as well.”

 

“What type of matters, my dear?”

 

“Oh, just the odd dilemma or conundrum that sometimes occurs in a lady’s life. Missing jewellry and the like.” She hoped she didn’t have to outline more of her other types of cases that she’d gradually begun to accept again now that Jack was recovering so well.

 

“Yes, of course,” he responded, his curiosity in full force. “Go on.”

 

“I was thinking that whilst you’re still on medical leave and have been growing a bit more restless being home so often,” she quickly summarised. “Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind lending me your observational skills to go over a few of these requests of theirs that I’ve been privy to of late?” She sent him her best innocent expression look that usually worked on all who confronted it, except for Jack Robinson. For the most part, it had also been working on Archie too. Or so she thought.

 

“Let me get this straight then,” he mulled over her words. “Whilst you’ve been carrying on with your charity work, you’ve also started to take on some investigative type activities on behalf of your aunt’s friends as well? To help them recover missing bits and bobs? Or is there more to this that you’re trying to tell me, Fernie?”

 

For indeed, Archie had begun to notice that not all was what it seemed with his beloved wife, in spite of her continual affable and loving manner towards him and everyone in their circle. In response, he became increasingly baffled and concerned when he sensed her underlying anxiety and, even guilty demeanour at times. Which he now didn’t want to waste any more opportunities to discover, especially if it meant he could help calm some of her anxieties.

 

“Why, yes, that’s exactly what I mean, Archie,” Phryne affirmed, trying to hide her anxiousness as she watched him digest this information. “I’ve started to look into other matters whenever someone might require it, like verifying important facts.” She knew it was still too soon to mention her investigations into potential affairs, kidnappings, and especially murders (which she had thankfully not been approached about since the hostage situation).

 

“And you’d like me to start assisting you with this?”

 

“Only if you're so inclined, darling, just to look over my notes. And, perhaps, suggest anything I might not have noticed. That sort of thing?”

 

Her heart did a flip at the familiar side smile he gave her, as he eagerly squeezed her hand. “Of course, my darling, I’d be happy to, especially if it helps you out.”

 

And that was where she found him as she entered his room (or “the study” as they had all begun referring to it for some reason or another) with the tea tray. She smiled at the sight of him hunched over his desk that they had moved from his home as he sifted through papers before him with a concentrated expression. She paused to drink in the familiar scene like a desert nomad stumbling upon an oasis. Her feet quickly propelled towards him when he lifted his eyes and his face lit up instantly when he spotted her. Phryne set the tray down on one end of his desk before jumping up to balance herself on the corner.  

 

“I know that look,” she told him with an affectionate smile, leaning over to give him a playful kiss that he eagerly returned.

 

“What look?”

 

“The one that says you’re stymied and need my assistance to unravel something.”

 

“Oh, really, Mrs Jones?”

 

“Yes,” she informed him. “Because I’ve just returned from my extremely dull luncheon with Aunt P’s extremely sleep-inducing charity board members to tell you that I’ve worked out who’s been responsible for the string of recent robberies in the north end.”

 

Archie poured out their cups of tea and passed Phryne hers before sitting back with his hands steepled across the front of his brightly-patterned jumper that Dot had knitted for him. “Of course you have. And you’re going to tell me that it was Mrs Wilcox, aren’t you?”

 

Phryne nearly spat out her tea in her surprise. “You worked it out all by yourself already?”

 

“As you said, my dear, I’ve discovered that I’m quite adept at working out puzzles.” He then leaned forward and placed a concerned hand on her silk clad knee at the slight shadow he saw pass over her expression.

 

“What it is, Fernie? I’m sorry for stealing your thunder.”

 

She instantly brightened and took another sip to mask the tears that suddenly threatened to spill out of the corners of her eyes.

 

“No, no, it’s nothing. I’m...just suddenly a bit exhausted is all.”

 

She lied to him smoothly, not wanting him to become concerned at the burst of emotions that had washed over her at the aching familiarity of the scene. It was one more of those shared moments in Jack’s office at the station that she had been missing along with so many others. And now, here she was sharing a similar one with him again, working out a case together. Only, not as Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher, but as two completely different personas. It felt so right, yet also completely wrong.

 

Jack then stood suddenly, holding out his hand to her. She took it without question and allowed him to lead her down the back corridor and back to the main parlour where he continued until they were both seated at the piano. He then placed his hands onto the keys and began to play and sing a slightly familiar tune to her. She recognised it as one of Cole Porter’s, and closed her eyes with a sigh as Jack’s deep voice washed over:

 

_Strange, dear, but true, dear,_

_When I’m close to you dear,_

_The stars fill the sky,_

_So in love with you am I._

_Even without you_

_My arms fold about you._

_You know, darling, why,_

_So in love with you am I._

_In love with the night mysterious_

_The night when you first were there_

_In love with my joy delirious_

_When I knew that you could care._

_So taunt me and hurt me,_

_Deceive me, desert me,_

_I’m yours ‘til I die,_

_So in love,_

_So in love_

_So in love with you, my love, am I._

 

Oh, what a terribly, terrible complex mix of emotions she was feeling! His words and his voice pierced her heart and soul like no other thing or being ever had. She felt like crying. Drowning. The man sitting by her side was squeezing the air out of her lungs with every single chord, every caress of his fingertips on the black and white keys. He was caressing her soul with the music, reaching deep inside her and stroking places she’d forgotten existed within her. Right there and then, in the intimacy that surrounded them like a magic spell right out of the pages of the penny dreadfuls she’d always refused to read, the most honorable man Miss Phryne Fisher had ever known was baring his soul to her.

 

The moment would have been perfect in aching beauty and exquisiteness had it not been for one thing: it wasn’t the detective inspector playing the piano and singing, and it wasn’t the lady detective the woman those poetic lyrics were meant for. The sung love letter dripping like honey from his lovely mouth was meant for someone else. She had spent the last several weeks pretending to be that woman, crawling under the skin of the alter ego Jack’s mind had created in its altered state- but the truth was that she wasn’t Fernie, and she truly never would be. She wasn’t a former fan dancer, she didn’t dedicate her life to helping charities all over Melbourne. It could sound like her, some of it. There were similarities between her and the woman she was supposed to be, but it was an illusion and nothing more. It had begun as his at first, and for the briefest moments over the past few weeks she had allowed herself to make it hers as well, even if only for a minute or two.

 

But it wasn’t who she was, and she didn’t want to be anyone but herself. Especially in his eyes.

 

What wouldn’t she have given to actually hear Jack Robinson sing to her those same words that Archie was singing to his wife! And what wouldn’t she have given to have realized that this was what she wanted before it had been forced on her by tragedy. Not the being married per se - she was still pretty certain that would never be her. But the intimacy, the laughter, living with him under the same roof, and sleeping in his arms, smelling his scent in the air when she came home. Knowing that it was home because he was there, because it was his home as well. _Theirs._   

 

Archie and Fernie’s life was easier, far easier than that of Jack and Phryne’s. And oh, in moments like those how she wished she could indulge herself and let go! But what good would that be? How could that help? This life was easier, yes, but it wasn't really theirs. _S_ he couldn’t be Miss Fisher to him, but she really wasn’t Fernie either.

 

Yes, she felt like crying. Drowning. Because he was there, and so was she, and yet there was a barrier between them. The ghosts of the people they were supposed to be stood between the people they were. If she were to touch him, if she let herself go, indulged herself, and graze his cheek with her fingertips, she’d be touching a man that wasn’t Jack Robinson. And he’d be feeling the love of a woman that wasn’t the Honourable Phryne Fisher. For to him now, her skin wasn’t hers, and his love wasn’t Jack’s.

 

It was eating at her. Destroying her. It killed her softly, almost erotically, over and over again. With each word he sang, he made her come undone. Phryne. Fernie. The two of them. All of her. Every single version of her.

 

When the song finished and the echo of his voice ceased vibrating throughout her entire being, Phryne immediately felt bereft and empty. There was something about the song that had filled her with hope and sadness in equal parts, as contradictory as that sounded. But wasn’t everything about this a complex contradiction? Wasn’t it a contradiction that to hear Jack singing the words in that song- a declaration she had always fled from when men had expressed their adoration for her (as had been the case several times) - was now also one of her greatest  wishes? But the greatest contradiction was, however, that she didn’t really care what his name was or what his career was- Jack, Archie, a detective, a pianist… It was all the same to her, it meant nothing. The only thing that held any truth for her was the love in his eyes - the window to his soul. And, it was his soul that she recognised was the same- whether it belonged to Jack, or Archie, did it really matter?

 

Eventually, he stood up and held out his hand to her. There he was, once again, offering everything he was. Everything he had. It was hers, all hers. _He_ was all hers to have and to hold, to cherish. To love. It was love he was offering, and it was his love that she wanted. She could admit it to herself now. She craved it, desperately and achingly.

 

A wave of emotion washed over her when they intertwined their fingers. They fit so well. If there was a moment when she might have believed in soulmates, and all those things about real, eternal love that Dot read about in those stories she enjoyed so much, then that was it. In the same manner that Archie thought he and Fern were made for each other, that night the Honourable Phryne Fisher could have sworn the same could be said about her and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

 

He pulled her closer, their chest flats one against the other. Her eyelids closed on their own accord and her mouth opened slightly right before it crashed on his. It was different than anything she'd experienced with a man before- _and she was widely experienced_. She felt naked in his arms before a single piece of clothing was discarded. It was confusing and contradictory as well, because she was emotionally vulnerable and exposed, opening up to him and for him. And now, he was ready to give everything he had and take anything and everything that was hers. And at the same time it was all a lie. He was hidden behind the facade of Archie, and she was hiding so much from him behind the enforced mask of Fern.

 

Yet she still held onto him. And she hoped against hope that what was certainly about to happen was more about the connection between their souls than about the desire they had for each other's skin.

 

With the certainty that her heart was already doomed to break (perhaps, had already started breaking), and that his would follow, Phryne felt herself fracturing under the weight of the decision before her.

 

Could she allow them to have at least one gaudy night, even if it was as Archie and Fernie?

  
He wordlessly began guiding her upstairs to her boudoir, their fingers still intertwined and their eyes locked. With her messy black hair and her lips swollen because of his passionate kisses, Phryne knew without a hint of a doubt that whether she followed him or not, sooner or later she'd most likely end up breaking his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack experience their first night together in her boudoir...and Phryne comes to a new resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have been so thrilled by your detailed analysis and feedback of our favourite duo's current dilemma! We hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint. As always, thank you for your wonderful comments! We always love to hear from you!

Her cheek felt numb from where she had pressed her face against the cold glass of her bedroom’s window pane, ironically, to try to find some feeling against the skin that now felt deadened from the ridiculous amount of tears she had been shedding all evening and night. She tightened her arms around her updrawn knees, and huddled against the night’s chill seeping through her thin, silk robe. It was the first thing that she had thrown over her bare figure as soon as she had felt Jack’s arms grow limp around her, and then she had escaped.

 

Away from the warmth of his embrace and the familiar cocoon of her bed. Away from the upheaval churning its way through her heart and threatening to send bile up her stomach. Away from the constant onslaught of emotions she couldn’t seem to protect herself from ever since that horrible evening when a madman’s bullet had changed everything in her life.  

 

 _Their lives_.

 

It wasn’t only her life that had changed, and how could she be so self-centered to think so? She was selfless in her nature. She had always been like that. How could she think only her life had changed that night when the consequences of what had happened had split both of their lives into two perfectly cut, bittersweet moon halves?

 

That very same orb offered none of its usual allure or calm to the lone occupant at the window tonight, however, as it usually might have since Phryne was a true creature of the night. Instead, its cold light seemed to reflect the deadness (the _emptiness_ ) that the lady detective felt inside at the moment. Her eyes couldn’t help drifting back over towards the man who lay fast asleep in a bed they should have shared for the first time in very different circumstances. Or at least that was what she had intended the night it had all begun.

 

Phryne closed her eyes as she tortured herself with the wretchedly wonderful moments after she had allowed Jack to lead her all the way upstairs before she had pulled him into her boudoir. His intent was very clear, and she had wanted nothing else, but to be swept up into the headiness of the moment.

 

After all, hadn’t she deserved it after all those long weeks of being forced to be on her best behaviour? Of casting aside her usual, carefree lifestyle and pursuits in which she wasn’t accountable to anyone, but herself? She cringed slightly as she recalled the starkness of her thoughts during that moment when she had wanted nothing else, but to give way to her self-professed motto of taking nothing seriously in the past decade. (But it was _him_ this time, her detective inspector, and how could she not take him seriously?)

 

Yes, this was how she had felt as she had paused on the top landing and encouraged Jack’s lips to continue his ministrations to the skin along her neck. This was what propelled her as she finally pulled him into her boudoir at long last. This was the current that pulled them threatened to suck them under as they frantically reached for the other on that slippery precipice of desire that they had continually been balancing on over the past year. And now, she wanted so much to push themselves off of it once and for all.

 

She knew it was wrong to let them get carried away. She knew that it wasn’t really Jack who was murmuring his love for his beloved against whatever expanse of her skin his hungry mouth could reach. She only knew how glorious it was to feel his strong, warm hands against her breasts and up along her legs as he continued to peel away every last layer of her resistance. But then again, those weren’t his hands. And she wasn’t who he thought he was worshipping with every caress, kiss and light moan. What she was feeling, experiencing for the very first time with him, he believed they had enjoyed together a million times. For in his mind, Archie and Fern had made love to each other every night for the past year, and this was a reunion and not a beginning. It was the start of something new entirely for him, too, but under a different light: it was about surviving, and second chances, and celebrating life. The life he believed they had built together.

 

“Fernie!” He suddenly called out, the sound dousing her no less than if he had actually just tipped a bucket of ice cold water over her head.

 

She knew that that wasn’t her name. She knew that she shouldn’t go through with it. Because even though it was still Jack, he was acting out as Archie who thought he was making love to his wife. To Fernie. Someone who was a figment of his amnesiac imagination. Someone that shared a lot of her mannerisms, beliefs and traits. But it wasn’t real, and it wasn’t her. It was one thing to pretend when he called her name during the day to comment on something he’d read in the newspaper or ask her a question about this or that. It was very different to pretend when they were about to be intimate for the first time.

 

It didn’t feel right, it could never feel right. It wasn’t fair to any of them, or the love she now knew she felt for him. The love she somehow had always known he had felt for her, perhaps from the beginning. But, most of all, it was the unshakeable trust that had mutually linked them together from the start, even through all of the banter and competing, that she knew neither of them could stand to have violated. It was the bedrock of their connection...their partnership. She saw it mirrored in his eyes even then as it clearly shone through the haze of his passion.

 

And she knew then what she had to do, for both their sakes.

 

On that thought and with every ounce of her inner and outer strength, Phryne Fisher forced herself to push away the most honourable man she had never known. And as she did so, his eyes flashed a multitude of his own warring emotions - of hurt, concern, and confusion - as she pulled herself away from him. And, it was this look that pierced her soul and cracked the steely armour she had had to shield herself behind over the past month.

 

She could no longer bear it as the mingled grief, and the pressure of having to live with these two versions of him finally crushed her. And with that came the torrent of tears she had been holding back for weeks every since those frightening moments at the hospital when she thought she had truly lost him. And, as she struggled against Archie’s attempts to comfort her, she realised that in so many ways, she had lost him, Jack Robinson, to this genial and affable impostor who was still trying to soothe her from her obvious distress. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t demand any explanations (and this reminded her of the real Jack, which only accentuated her conflicting confusion). She needed them to stop, and so they did. And as he gathered her in his arms and tried to calm her, soothe her with the same hands and lips that had been setting her body on fire a second before, she wondered whether she’d ever be able to live without him. Any form of him. Any version of him. (The answer was that she’d never be able to, even if it killed her.)

 

“It’s all right, shhhh,” he whispered as though he could read her thoughts. “It’s all right, I’m here, my darling.”

 

But he wasn’t. No, he wasn’t. Her Jack wasn’t there, Archie was. And he was a wonderful man, but it wouldn’t do. Because he wasn’t real, and she didn’t need him as much as she needed her partner. And it hurt beyond reason. It hurt more than she ever imagined something could - and she hadn’t had the easiest of lives,  pain wasn’t unknown to her. And yet this undid her, destroyed her, in ways she would have never guessed. Yet, having him there at all also redeemed her hopes at the same time, like a tiny flicker of light in the darkness, that perhaps, it wasn’t too late. For him. For them.

 

As she mulled through this never ending loop of thoughts, something inside prodded her to glance over towards the bed before she heard the whispered sounds:

 

“Miss Fisher…where are you?”

 

He was calling for her again in his sleep. It was during those hours of slumber that the inspector reached out of the depths of his infinite confusion and frantically searched for his Miss Fisher. _His._ She has never thought of herself as someone else's. And yet it was an irrevocable truth that she had allowed his love to mark her in this way.

 

“Phryne?” There it was again. She savoured the sound of her given name. It wasn't uttered in desperation this time, no. He wasn't pleading with her tonight, asking her not to leave his side. It was as though he could sense her distress, her sadness and anxiety, and was calling out to her so she would come back to bed, right into his loving embrace just as she had done the night before. And the night before that.

 

Only that this time it would be Jack soothing her in his sleep, and she couldn't help but wonder if the hours he spent submerged in his unconsciousness would be the only time she would ever get to spend with her inspector from then on. (And how conflicted was it that she wished she could simply go back to bed and right into his arms, close her eyes and breathe him in and pretend that they would be the inspector and the lady detective when they woke up?)

 

 _Talk to him,_ she thought to herself. _Talk to him now. Jack is there, somewhere, somehow. Talk to him, he'll listen. Jack will listen like he always has._

 

Or so she hoped with every ounce of her heart. Well, she wouldn’t be Phryne Fisher if the thought of taking a risk could send her fleeing like a coward. Imbued with this sense of her usual gusto, she quickly stood up from her dressing table chair, and slipped back into her bed that had now become a secluded cloud of satin sheets and Jack’s inviting warmth and familiar scent. She wondered how she could have abandoned the feel of his arms earlier as they instinctively reached over to envelope her closer to his side.

 

But she knew the answer to that, didn’t she? She’d done so because the man embracing her then hadn’t been Jack. It had been someone else. The person he became when he was awake. Sweet, lovable, noble Archie. Perfect gentleman, talented pianist, married to Fernie. Now that he was asleep and calling out for her, and not Fernie, it all made so much more sense. It all fell so much more real. Like it was supposed to be. Exactly what it should have never stopped being like.

 

“Where did you go, Miss Fisher?”

 

Taking that as her cue, Phryne responded by leaning over to press her lips against his.

 

“I’m right here, Jack.”

 

As he stopped fidgeting at the sound of her voice, she tucked her head against her favourite nook between his neck and shoulder. She breathed in deeply before she permitted herself to pour out all of her emotions...for the second time that night. Only this time, she did so verbally knowing she could be completely honest as she began to share what she had been experiencing. Because she was once again talking to Jack Robinson. Her Jack. Her inspector.

 

Even though he was asleep, he was still there, acting as her anchor, her mooring point, which she could only catch small glimpses of during his waking hours. The man that had been there when she’d faced the shadows of the past over a year ago. The man that had reminded her ghosts were not worth being afraid of. The man whose hand hers had reached out for and found during the worst moment of her life, when they had found what was physically left of her beloved sister.

 

He had been there. He’d always been there, always would be. She just knew it in the depths of her soul, she could feel it in her bones, and in the blood running through her veins. They’d have to physically tear him apart from her if they wanted to make him leave her, and even then she’d bet her whole life that he’d put up a hell of a fight too. Phryne missed that man.

 

And she knew that somehow, some way, he was able to hear her words through his subconsciousness by the way his arms would tighten in reassurance or his periodic verbal responses as she continued to empty her fears, anxieties and confusion to him one at a time. As the shadows gradually began to lift as a result of shedding her burdens, her resolve also grew.

 

Phryne knew that the field of neurology was still relatively new, and that Mac was being extra cautious for Jack’s sake. But, she felt that that was no longer enough. Now that the inspector had physically recovered so well, Phryne was adamant that more had to be done to help him retrieve his true memories too. Whether she had to resort to finding a hypnotist or hiring the country’s top neurologist to come treat Jack personally, the Honourable Phryne Fisher was determined to put all of her energy and resources in trying to unlock whatever barriers were preventing her inspector from re-emerging.

 

It was time for her to do what she did best so that she and her partner would return to doing what they did best...together. It wasn’t just for his or her sake alone. City South, Melbourne...the entire world needed Inspector Robinson back, as far as she was concerned.

 

For the first time in nearly a month, Phryne felt a sense of peace and hope again. She burrowed contentedly against his sleeping form, and before long, she felt herself drifting off to join Jack in the sweet slumber of the unencumbered.

 

“Good night, Jack,” she whispered dreamily. “Come back to me soon, Inspector!”

 

He stirred slightly at the sound of her voice, tilting his head down to place a gentle kiss against her hair and pulling her gently closer so she could listen to his steady heart beating against her ear.

 

“Come after me, Miss Fisher.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie worries about his wife's odd behaviour and wonders how he can comfort her.

Archibald Jones was no detective inspector, but he could read his wife like an open book. He knew something was wrong. Ever since the incident that had almost ended his life, Fernie had been under a lot of stress, and it was beginning to show. There were traces of the woman he had met and fallen in love with when they used to work at nightclubs to make ends meet, but she wasn’t the same. Something had changed. He found evidence of that in her erratic sleeping patterns, and from the wrinkles around her eyes that appeared there now even when she wasn’t smiling. His Fernie was often so nervous, and tired, and he knew she was putting on a brave face so as not to worry him- but he saw right through it. It was a rare ability, a gift if you will, that he had developed almost upon meeting her at the jazz club: he saw through the artist, the bohemian, the charmer. He saw the real Fern, the little details no one else noticed and the things she tried to hide. And, he knew she was hiding the sadness and desolation she’d been feeling ever since that bullet had impacted on his skull.

 

It agonised him to see her like that. The only thing worse than the anxiety in her eyes was knowing that he was the one causing it. The situation was taking a toll on them. _On her._ She didn't deserve this, the nerves and the stress that came with having a husband that needed constant care for his slow recovery. She has coped with it magnificently and with grace and elegance like she did everything else in her life. But it didn't take a mastermind to see she was on the verge of crying more often than not, or that she had seemed to reach the end of her rope, and was now overcompensating. She was still his darling Fern- she looked like her, talked like her, and had her sense of style and her beautiful smile- but more often recently, it felt like she was someone else.

 

He hated to admit it, but he suspected that on the outside she was only pretending to be the version of herself he knew so well and had fallen in love with. Whilst on the inside she was falling to pieces from pretending to be all right for his sake, his precious Fern, while her heart was breaking. And it was all his fault.

 

He had brought on this on them. On her. He could take all the suffering, would take all the hurting, if it meant she'd stop being so terribly sad and hiding it from the world. Archie couldn't help considering himself a guilty part in all of this. It had all started after the incident. They had been so happy before that, their love and understanding of each other made their relationship modern and unique in ways others they knew of weren't. She had always been a modern-minded woman, and he had been a modern enough man to win her heart. Theirs had been a marriage of true minds.

 

But now everything was different. She felt different, more reserved and sometimes too cheery for it to be genuine. His Fern had always been genuine, that was one of the personality traits he loved most about her. But ever since he had waken up at the hospital with her by his side nothing had been quite like he remembered it. It was as though the bullet had destroyed more than skin and tissue, and he had woken up in the midst of an organized chaos trying to pass as normality. And so here he was, drowning in confusion and frustration because the pieces of the life he used to have were there, but he didn't seem to be able to make them all fit together. And his Fernie was suffering, unhappy and distant, and he didn't know what to do about it.

 

There were questions Archie didn't have the answer to and that had been present from the moment he'd woken up after the surgery. The most pressing was the one he didn't dare ask because he feared the answer. She had called him ‘Jack’ at the hospital, and he still didn’t know why. They didn’t know anyone by that name. He was plain, old Archie, Archibald Jones, former jazz pianist and now a music teacher to children from disadvantaged neighborhoods. Fernie didn’t have a reason to call him Jack, and yet she had done so. And she hadn’t explained- neither had he asked for an explanation, for there had been other things going on in his head (quite literally as well as figuratively) in the aftermath of his being shot in the head and almost dying. But the question and the doubts had never left the back of his mind, and now they were festering. He didn’t want to go down this train of thought, and he knew it was wrong of him to doubt his wife. But, the fact that he had overheard her a couple of times mentioning someone by the name of ‘Jack’ to their friend Dr. MacMillan wasn’t helping matters. She hadn’t realized that he had been listening in, and he hadn’t brought it up either. He didn’t want to distress her further - she was having a hard enough time as it was.

 

But he couldn’t help feeling insecure, either. She was a beautiful woman, the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes on. Archie knew himself to be an attractive man and women had often seeked his company and attentions, but he also knew the same to be true about his wife. She had had numerous lovers, more than he cared to inquire about, and taking a step toward monogamy - albeit being what she had wanted at the time they had gotten married - had been a big thing for her. It hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision. They had talked about it, they had considered options, and ultimately they had gotten married. He had never doubted her or her fidelity, he had never had any reasons to. But what if things had changed and she had become bored with him? What if he wasn’t enough to feed her appetite for variety? One man had never been enough for her before him, so on what basis was he to believe that he’d always be enough, and she’d never want for anything else as long as she had him? She was special, a rare flower amidst the field, a precious jewel he had been lucky to find and be allowed to keep for himself. But she wasn’t his, no. He’d never claim ownership over her - it wasn’t his right, nor his place, and she would have never permitted it. She was a free spirit, freer than the wind itself, and their relationship was not a cage. He’d rather die before having her see him and their lives together as a prison.

 

But wasn’t it already happening? Had the life they shared not become a prison already over the last several weeks? Her routines, her social life, her charity work - all of that had changed or been put on hold in favour of his wellbeing. She was devoted to taking care of him, and he was afraid she was forgetting to care for herself, putting his needs above hers because she loved him. He’d never forgive himself if that was the case. And what if this man named Jack was someone she had met right before the accident? Someone she was interested in? What if she wanted to leave him or ask for some sort of agreement, but she was restraining herself from doing so because he had been wounded and was still recovering? The questions never ended, and he couldn’t stop coming up with new ones each and every day. The less answers he had, the more questions popped up in his mind to drive him into a state of pure torture.

 

They had been about to make love for the first time ever since the accident, and she had suddenly come apart in his arms (and not in the way he had intended either). He definitely hadn’t dared to ask any questions then, for he both feared the answers and didn’t want to force her to admit to him what she was trying to hide with so much effort: that he was a burden, and that she was unhappy. Perhaps, that there might even be another man she was more interested in. He had been a coward and eluded the opportunity to ask her directly what was wrong. Deep down Archie knew what was wrong, he just needed a little more time before he made his peace with it and decided what to do next.

 

The only thing he did know was that he’d never make Fernie unhappy on purpose. He wouldn’t have her stay with him out of pity or duty. He didn’t want to be a burden, a weight on her that brought her down. She shone like the sun or the moon, sometimes even more so, and he wouldn’t be the one dimming the light of the woman he adored.

 

It hurt him more than any bullets could, but Archibald Jones was slowly coming to the realization that if he had become an obstacle between Fernie and her happiness, then he’d have to remove himself from her life. Perhaps not forever (he hoped not forever!) but for some time. Until he was himself again, until after the recovery process ended. Or maybe until she was ready to openly talk with him about anything she felt she needed to tell him, this mysterious man named Jack included. Until they could figure out what to do to make each other happy again, like they used to be before the shooting.

 

Maybe looking into being moved somewhere, such as  a hospice, so she wouldn’t have to watch over him around the clock, would be a good place to start. They had the help of the nurse, but Fernie being Fernie wanted to be involved in everything regarding his care, and she hadn’t taken any time for herself as a result. He wondered if a hospice wouldn’t be the best option for them: she could visit (and he hoped that she would) and he would be well-cared for until the doctors deemed it safe for him to resume his normal life. That wayFernie wouldn’t have to be the one carrying all the weight on her shoulders. It probably would have been best if they had done that from the start, but Archie knew her, and she would have never made that suggestion herself. He’d have to be the one to bring up this solution. It would be easier for everyone. It would be better overall.

 

Archie closed the book he had open in his lap. He had meant to read to ease the turmoil in his mind, but he hadn’t gotten around to it. The worrisome thoughts had won, of course, and so now he was making his way to the parlour where Fernie was entertaining her close friend, Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan. He would talk to both of them now, tell them what he had been thinking. He’d save some details, needless to say, but the main suggestion would come right through: it was time for him to go to a hospice so Fernie could get some well-deserved rest.

 

He heard the muffled voices of his wife and their friend as he approached the entrance to the parlour. He was about to enter the room when the following words made him stop in his tracks:

 

“Things have got to get better somehow, Mac!” It was Fernie, and she sounded frustrated (and rightly so). It pained him terribly, but he understood. He’d always understand. “There has got to be something we can do! Anything! I’d try anything at this point, really.”

 

The fact that he could clearly see the expression she must have on her beautiful face just by listening to the tone of her voice pained him more than it should have, for he would miss the emotional connection they had developed between them if it ever was to be severed.

 

“I simply cannot go on like this for much longer,” her voice then dropped to a whisper, but the next ones shocked him as though she had screamed them into his face. “Oh, Mac, I miss Jack! I want Jack!” Then, the final declaration that ended on a sob sounded like his death knell: “I need Jack...not Archie!”

 

It knocked the air out of him. He felt empty all of a sudden, like all of the organs inside his body had been removed and replaced by nothing but a piercing sadness. His suspicions were confirmed now, weren’t they? He was hearing it from her lips, no hesitation, no possible misunderstanding. She was admitting to missing, wanting, needing a man that wasn’t him.

 

He knew her in depth, and he could very well tell, even without looking at her face, that she was utterly in love with this man. Whoever he was, he was making Fernie feel the passion and adoration he had once been able to awaken in her, and that he, Archie, obviously no longer did. It was no wonder now why she hadn’t wanted to be intimate with him, why she had come undone in his arms from anything but desire, crying desperately: he had been pursuing a connection that didn’t exist anymore, at least not on her part, and that she was now craving from someone else.

 

The suffocating sensation threatened to choke him as he stood there in shocked horror at Fernie’s sudden revelation. He needed to escape. He needed air. He needed to be anywhere but standing there in the middle of this place that had once become a sanctuary to him. Only now, it felt more like a mausoleum for the dust and ashes of his dreams and life with Fernie. The book he was still carrying dropped to the floor with a big _thud_. Ignoring it, Archie turned mechanically towards the hook by the door and reached for his hat hanging there next to hers. The sight of the jaunty cloche made his heart want to bleed even more.

 

So, in efforts to salvage what he could of his shattered heart and emotions, Archie Jones, pulled open the front door and fled the only place he had ever really felt at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading and leaving such wonderful, encouraging comments. We promise that oodles of comfort are soon to come!!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will happen now that Jack (or should we say Archie?) has overheard what Phryne told Mac? First off, Miss Fisher enlists the help of her Wardlow family to go searching for the missing inspector!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we are nearing the end of this story (yes, with the oodles of comfort that we promised)! Thank you so much for all of the encouraging, beautiful comments you've been leaving us. We hope you enjoy this new chapter!

For the first time in quite a long while, Phryne Fisher found herself waking up in her boudoir draped over something, or _someone_ if one could bother with semantics at the crack of dawn, other than just herself and her luxurious sheets and pillows. As she blinked against the faint grey light, everything from the night before came rushing back at her with full force as she gazed longingly at the still sleeping face of her bed partner. Considering he was usually awake before her, Miss Fisher eagerly sat up as carefully as she could so as not to disturb him, and leaned over onto one arm with her head tilted slightly. She certainly was not going to waste such a splendid opportunity to study this rare specimen, namely, a semi-dressed Jack Robinson fast asleep in her bed!

 

This was different than the many nights she had spent by his side at the hospital and then in his room downstairs. Lifting a hand to trail a few fingers lightly through waves of hair that were as stubborn as their owner, Phryne revelled in the newfound peace of her resolution from the previous night. She felt it straight down into the depths of her soul, and maybe even down to her actual soles, as she basked in the delight of observing Jack’s peacefully slumbering features. As though somehow, he felt it too. She wasn’t one to analyse the why or the how, and simply enjoyed the almost sacredness of the moment that rendered all the previous weeks’ worth of broiling emotions nearly null and void.

 

But, also not one to be given to long bouts of stillness, Phryne was eager to begin launching her plan to resurrect Jack’s memories once and for all. She quickly leaned over to hover above him and breathe in his scent before planting a kiss on his forehead (that wrinkled slightly at her touch) and then onto the side of his wonderful jaw (that unclenched upon contact with her lips)...and then another slower one to his slightly parted lips (another endearing quality of his sleeping habits that she knew he’d be utterly mortified about if he knew that she knew).

 

Then, she slipped out of bed as smoothly as a fish in water before reaching for her robe that Dot always made sure was available by her changing screen. Tiptoeing lightly to her adjoining bathroom, she only allowed the rush of her plans for the day to overtake her mind soon as the water rushing forth through the taps began to fill up her bathtub. There was so much to be done! And no matter how much her staff- her chosen family- offered to help: there were things that only she could do.

 

She liberally added a few handfuls of her current favourite bath soaps just as a light knock sounded outside her bedroom door. Aha, Dot would have noticed immediately that Jack’s bed downstairs hadn’t been slept in last night, and must be searching for her mistress with tea tray in tow (God bless the girl!). Phryne turned the water off, secured her robe’s sash around her frame, and lightly made her way to her boudoir’s main entrance.

 

“Good morning, Miss, I mean, Mrs Jones!” Dot fumbled as she entered bearing the heavily-laden tray and sent a quick glance over at the still sleeping form on the bed, grateful to see that the inspector wasn’t yet conscious (and covered up to his chin in a few layers of Miss Phryne’s bed covers).

 

“Morning, Dot,” Phryne greeted her cheerily, snatching quickly at a piece of toast. “Follow me, there’s a lot to accomplish today!”

 

Buoyed by her dear miss’ enthusiasm, Dot placed the tray onto one of the side tables and followed her friend and employer into the bathroom where Phryne quietly closed the door.

 

“Oh, Miss, you should have waited for me to prepare your bath,” Dot began to protest before Phryne could cut her off.

 

“It’s absolutely fine, Dot,” she reassured her companion. “I need you for some much more important tasks today.”

 

“Oh, really, miss?” Dot straightened from picking up a few stray items of clothing from off the floor, willing her blush to not betray her thoughts as she noticed the slight tears in some of the items that belonged to both Miss Phryne...and the inspector.

 

“Yes, I urgently require your expertise because we’ll be going on a picnic today!” Phryne informed her as she slipped into the cascading bubbles. “To the station! Oh, and could you please look out that darling blue coat of mine with the white feathered collar?”

 

“You mean the one you wore to Luna Park that time Inspector Robinson took you on the Scenic Railway?” Dot immediately knew which one her miss was referring to since Miss Fisher had mentioned their outing more than once.

 

“Exactly, Dot! What would I do without you?” Phryne then eagerly sat up to fill in her companion about her plans to take the inspector with them to the station later ostensibly to deliver Hugh’s lunch.

 

“Then, I want to suggest that he and I go enjoy a picnic on the foreshore and maybe a visit to Luna Park.” She was hoping that revisiting a few of these familiar locations might aid in her grand plan to prompt Jack’s memories.

 

“I think these are all lovely ideas, Miss,” Dot agreed with a slight furrow to her brow. “But, have you suggested them to Dr MacMillan first? Just in case?”

 

Phryne blew out an exasperated breath that sent a few bubbles flying through the air. She watched them petulantly before brightening and reaching out to pop the transparent orbs that were now dancing around her nose. It moved her deeply to notice how Dot did not only care a great deal about her, but also about the inspector. The young maid’s loyalty was something she’d always appreciated, and she couldn’t be more grateful that she had Dot by her side throughout this difficult time. She knew Jack would be grateful, too.

 

“Oh, you’re right, Dot. Fine, I’ll telephone her soon as I finish here and invite her over for morning tea...right before we go to the station!” She was certain she could win over her friend’s agreement on the start of her grand plan before they set off for the station. But, Dot was right, she should run things by the doctor first, just in case.

 

But by the time Mac arrived, Phryne found the doctor not as easy to convince as she had hoped. The lady detective quickly tried to brief her oldest friend about her latest ideas before Jack joined them for tea. Phryne did notice how he had seemed a little more preoccupied than usual after he had woken up following her bath. She tried not to think about the fact that he obviously had unspoken questions about how she had so abruptly ended their previous evening’s passion. Instead, he had given her a rather melancholy look (that was more reminiscent of Jack than Archie) and gentle kiss on the cheek, before quickly leaving her boudoir and mumbling something about a headache. She had then flown through the rest of her morning toilette in order to check on him. But, he had reassured her calmly that he felt much better after his morning coffee and some pancakes that Mr Butler had magically supplied, and was then more than content to remain cooped up in his study with a book. She knew a dismissal when she heard one.

 

“Sweetheart, I know how difficult this has been for you. I’m not saying your ideas aren’t going to work,” her friend responded eventually. “In fact, visiting familiar places could be a good thing at this stage given how much he’s recovered already. Especially with what you’ve been reporting about his nighttime progress. That’s extremely positive.”

 

“But, is it enough? I feel like we have to do more!” She couldn’t hide the exasperation and frustration she was feeling, and the red-headed doctor could hear it and almost feel it in her friend’s voice.

 

“And we will, Phryne. We just need to ensure that it’s in his best interest first and foremost.” She reached out a concerned hand to grasp Phryne’s, worried over her friend’s growing agitation.

 

“Things have got to get better somehow, Mac!” Phryne jumped up suddenly to begin pacing. “There has got to be something we can do! Anything! I’d try anything at this point, really.”

 

Mac watched her friend, feeling helpless despite all of her years of experience and medical training. This was simply an area that was still too new, and there were only a few emerging discoveries and treatments being conducted, mostly in England, that she knew would take time to reach more overall consensus amongst the medical community.

 

“I simply cannot go on like this for much longer,” Phryne’s voice then dropped to a whisper, she she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Mac, I miss Jack! I want Jack!” She then slumped back into her chair with a sob. “I need Jack...not Archie!”

 

The doctor stood up then to go to her friend’s side when she heard the sound of something falling to the floor outside in the entryway. Mac stopped to look up just in time to see a frantic Jack rushing through the front door before pulling it shut behind him.

 

“Did you hear something?” Phryne looked up, quickly drying her slightly wet eyes, and glancing at the doorway. She quickly assumed Fernie’s airy and cheerful tone. “Archie? Is that you, darling? Mac’s here now!” She stopped suddenly at the look on her friend’s face.

 

“I just saw him leave through the front door,” Mac informed her, as Phryne jumped up and the two women quickly raced to the entryway. They both looked down and saw the book that lay haphazardly in the middle of the tiles before glancing back up in horror at one another.

 

“Oh god, he must have overheard me!” Phryne began to panic just as Dot appeared at the dining room doors followed by Mr B carrying a heavily-laden tea tray. Their mistress looked at the empty hook by the door where Jack’s hat usually hung before widening her eyes and ripping the door open. “And then left!”

 

Mac and Dot quickly followed Phryne down the front steps, glancing in every direction as they rushed down the path and reached the front gates. Several motorcars sped past when Phryne noticed a tram pulling back out onto the street. Up until now, Jack had never left the house on his own, except to go sit in the garden, or perhaps, pick up the post.

 

“Dot, please ask Mr B to quickly get a hold of Cec and Bert and ask them to drop what they’re doing and come here as soon as possible! And please telephone Hugh at the station to let him know the inspector has...gone missing,” Phryne whirled around and made her way back to the house. “Oh, Mac, will he be all right on his own?”

 

“Calm down, Phryne,” the doctor admonished her friend as they all reassembled in the entry way. “Thankfully, his physical injuries shouldn’t become an issue, unless he falls and hits his head, god forbid! Hopefully, he remembers enough directions to not become lost.”

 

As Dot went to telephone the others, Mac led Miss Fisher back into the parlour where Mr Butler returned with the tea tray that now included a couple filled tumblers of whisky.

 

“Try to eat something, Miss,” he kindly admonished her in his calming voice. “You need to keep your strength up to bring the inspector home.”

 

Mac passed her one of the crystal glasses before picking up the other and taking a large swallow. “I’ve got to return to the hospital for my afternoon shift now, darling, but Mr Butler’s right.”

 

Phryne sat up and followed suit with her own glass before half-heartedly clinking it to Mac’s in her worry.

 

“He did ask me in his sleep to come after him last night. To find him...and I will,” she suddenly slammed the glass down onto the tray suddenly with resolve. “I’ll make damn sure that we find him, and bring him home!”

 

And in that moment she was completely, absolutely sure of something: her love for that man would always make her go after him.

 

*-*-*

 

After his impromptu retreat, Archie only knew that he had to get as far away from Wardlow as quickly as possible. He knew better than to attempt to drive anywhere (Mac had been adamant that he shouldn’t go near a motorcar until she explicitly felt he was deemed safe enough to do so). His head injury had also meant everyone barring him from using his beloved bicycle until further notice. Thus, it didn’t really take much thought for him to simply board the first tram he came across after Fernie’s declaration had driven him away. The only problem was that he didn’t really know where it would take him so he simply remained on it as his heart and mind continued to despair. He didn't really care where he was going, the uncertainty about his destination far from troubling the former pianist. What did it matter where exactly he was headed to? The heartbreak would follow.

 

“Sir,” the tram driver’s voice broke into his sullen thoughts. “Any idea when you’re planning to disembark?”

 

“Er, soon?”

 

“It’s just that I’m about to make another loop back towards St Kilda again, and then my shift ends once we near the town centre,” the driver notified him kindly. “Just making you’re aware is all, sir, absolutely no rush.”

 

He had seen it all after nearly ten years of being a tram driver. The driver could instinctively tell that this particular passenger didn’t have a clue where he was going, and must have only boarded this particular route to get away from something instead of intending to reach somewhere specific. It happened once in awhile, and the poor bugger really did look rather dismal.

 

Archie roused himself enough from his inward reflections to glance around at their current surroundings. He had rather enjoyed just sitting there, wallowing in despair, and not caring or knowing where he was going. But, he realised that wasn’t fair to the driver so he breathed in a large breathe and let it out slowly as he peered out of the window. Suddenly, he jumped up out of his seat, grabbing onto a nearby pole to maintain his balance on the moving vehicle.

 

“Actually, driver,” he felt tempted to jump up and down in one space, but refrained from doing so to avoid the curious stares of several other passengers (as well as to avoid Fernie and Mac’s wrath should he accidentally jar his head injury). “But, I believe I’m ready to disembark now.”

 

“Here in Richmond, sir?”

 

“Yes, that’s right. Please let me off here when it’s convenient,” Archie requested eagerly.

 

For the first time all day, Archie felt certain about something. He only just recognised where he was. This was the neighbourhood near their old house where they lived before Fernie had inherited her fortune and they moved to Wardlow. For lack of any other plan, Archie decided to at least check in on his old garden if the current tenants didn’t mind. In fact, he couldn’t remember meeting them, or whether Fernie had successfully found anyone to let it to although he knew they must have discussed it before they moved out.

 

He shook his head slightly to dislodge his jumbled thoughts, which he had tried to hide from his wife recently. Sometimes, he would just recognise or recall something like a fact, a face or an incident that didn’t seem to fit with his current reality. He had been meaning to tell Mac about these increasing incidents without Fernie present (no point adding to her concerns if he had no clue what they meant), but that opportunity hadn’t yet presented itself and he’d gone and forgotten all about it. No wonder Fernie was beginning to feel fed up by him...he had begun feeling rather exasperated about himself!

 

Tipping his jaunty cap to the driver after carefully stepping off the tram onto the pavement, Archie turned and began walking the short distance to the house. As he placed one foot in front of the other, he once again felt the overwhelming sensations that he had been experiencing more frequently of late. He knew this could be due to the fact that he was returning to a place in his past, but it was more than that although he couldn’t quite define it. A strong gust of wind blew against him, making him regret his impulsive dash out the door because of his lack of a coat. Jamming his hands into his trouser pockets, he hurried along until his feet reached the familiar stones of their old front pathway.

 

Upon first glance, he couldn’t really tell whether or not the house was occupied. The front lawn was tidy just as he remembered it, and the curtains in the front windows were currently drawn. Now that he was there, he felt rather sheepish, especially in case they did have current tenants. But, he still didn’t feel ready to make his way back to Wardlow. A few spatters of raindrops splashed his cheek, prompting him to move down the path and towards the front door. He could at least introduce himself and tell them he was simply passing and wanted to check in to see if they needed anything. Satisfied with this flimsy excuse for standing on the familiar front porch, Archie waited for any sign of life following his knock. After trying again with a louder rap and still not hearing any approaching footsteps or seeing any twitch of the front curtains, he decided it couldn’t hurt to try the back door. At the very least, he wouldn’t mind seeing if there had been any changes to his beloved garden.

 

He made his way back down the steps and meandered around the corner to the side gate. Glancing about and still not seeing any sign of anyone, Archie reached to unlatch the door and slipped through to the back garden. Stepping through, he was instantly delighted at the familiar, peaceful feelings enveloping him as he paused to take in the beauty of the oasis he found himself in. Reaching out a hand to touch a few blossoms still in bloom, Archie smiled as he recalled all the hours he had spent cultivating every bush and plant. He also remembered coming home after a long day to rest here in this peaceful spot, his former sanctuary. For some reason, though, he oddly couldn’t remember spending any time here with Fernie, and only briefly wondered why that was the case as he approached the ornate bench he had carved and built himself.

 

There wasn’t anything that served as testimony that he had spent any time with Fern in that house, and yet he was overcome by the sensation that he had spent a lifetime there thinking of her, dreaming of her, loving her. He had loved her in that house, in his heart and in his mind, and with every ounce of a soul that longed for that woman with the same intensity a prisoner longs for freedom or the ill longs for health. But he had no recollection of getting lost in her warm embrace while they made love, or of any shared moment between them whatsoever. It was as if that house had only been witness to nothing but agonizing wanton and need for something he had felt sure he’d never have but always dreamed of. And in that moment he was reminded once more of how Fernie had found her way inside his veins, infusing his blood with the very essence of her and everything she was, and he could not get her out. What was even more preoccupying was the fact that he’d rather die intoxicated by a love that was now unrequited rather than ever rid his system of her.

 

Suddenly feeling exhausted from the emotional turmoil and the fact he had not eaten anything since his feast of pancakes earlier that morning, Archie sat down with his muddled thoughts until he began to doze off.

 

The last conscious thought Archibald Jones had was that, whoever that man named Jack was, he wished more than anything that he could become more like him: to be deserving of Fernie’s love and the object of her desperation and need.

 

*-*-*

 

After another fruitless trek to the foreshore and frantic dash around Luna Park, a very dejected Miss Fisher had returned home. She pushed her way through the same traitorous door that had allowed the inspector to depart without any warning. Even if she didn’t have to face the expectant and then disappointed expressions on the faces of her faithful butler and companion as she closed the door behind her, Phryne knew that Jack hadn’t returned yet. Her heart ached and felt constricted from that unwelcomed feeling of worry and sadness that she hadn’t felt since her sister had gone missing all those years ago.

 

“Cec and Bert just checked in again about fifteen minutes ago, miss,” Dot reluctantly reported with a sad shake of her head. “They still haven’t spotted him yet either.” It was clear the young maid was worried and that she felt deeply for her employer and friend. Dot had met Miss Fisher the same day the inspector had, and she had been privileged to see the development of their relationship up front. She had been witness to how it had progressed, how the friendship between them had blossomed. And with it a wonderful love story had begun writing itself. It would be a tragedy if it all went to waste because of a misunderstanding. So, she was praying to the Almighty that everything would turn out fine, and that the inspector would return back home safe and sound, and into the arms of the woman that adored him so much.  It was clear the young maid was worried and that she felt deeply for her employer and friend. Dot had met Miss Fisher the same day the inspector had, and she had been privileged to see the development of their relationship up front. She had been witnessed to how it had progressed, how the friendship between them had blossomed. And with it a wonderful love story had begun writing itself. It would be a tragedy if it all went to waste because of a misunderstanding. So, she was praying to the Almighty that everything would turn out fine, and that the inspector would return back home safe and sound, and into the arms of the woman that adored him so much.

 

“Dr MacMillan also telephoned to say there was no sign of him at the hospital either. And Constable Collins promised to send word in case the inspector showed up at City South Police Station,” Mr Butler informed Miss Fisher. “Perhaps a spot of something warm might be just the trick now, miss?”

 

“Thank you, Dot and Mr B,” their miss  woodenly responded. “Some tea would be lovely.” She shrugged out of her beige driving coat, and whisked its matching hat off with an exhausted and worried smile that didn’t fool anyone. Dot quickly took them from her and was about to say something when Phryne simply shook her head.

 

“I’ll be in the study if anyone needs me,” she told them as they nodded and disappeared, respecting her wishes to be alone for the time being. Oh, heaven bless them! How lucky she was to have them by her side in this difficult time. She’d always known how to fend for herself - she’d had to learn how to since childhood, what with the hand she’d been dealt. Phryne had never had trouble getting her way or making things work - she was a smart, tenacious, resourceful woman. She had always managed to land on her two feet, and most of the times with only a few scratches. But, she couldn’t deny what a relief it was to know that, this time, she wasn’t alone. She had a family, and they were all right beside her willing to help. And Jack had them, too. They were not doing all of this only because they loved Phryne: they cared about the inspector, too. They were his family as well.  

 

All of those who cared about him were putting all of their effort into bringing him back home and to her, but so far there had been no trace of him. She breathed in and out a couple of times like she’d learnt to during her time as a nurse in the trenches. She was frantic. Everyone was doing their best to find Jack, and they still didn’t know where he may have gone. It mortified her, knowing that he had left after hearing her say to Mac that she needed and wanted a man that he didn’t know was actually himself. She could only imagine how that had made her poor partner feel, especially through the lens of his alter ego. Her stomach tied itself in a knot and she felt the taste of bile in her tongue every time she thought about it.

 

She sat in the study and put her head in her hands. She had missed Jack, her partner and friend, the man she was in love with (she was past the point of denying it now). But at least she had had part of him with her. She had had Archie. Now she was afraid she had nothing, that she had lost even this last vestige of him...and the pain was excruciating. She had hurt him, perhaps beyond repair, and the emptiness she felt at the moment could only be compared to what she had experienced as a child the first night she’d slept without Janey cuddled up next to her in the bed they had shared ever since she could remember.  

 

In her anguish, she reached out to touch the pile of Jack’s, er, rather, Archie’s clothing that Dot must have left on the end of his bed and forgotten about when she threw herself into search mode for the very same man’s current whereabouts. Needing to do something, Phryne stood up and gathered up the items and walked over to his wardrobe in the corner. Opening the doors now seemed like a bad mistake, however, as the familiar mingled scents of his soap, pomade, and essentially just Jack, hit her full force after she did so, surprising her enough to drop the carefully folded laundry at her feet. She fought back the pressure of tears rushing up her chest, throat, and blurring her vision as she knelt down to scoop them all back up and then gave up, pushing them onto the shelf in front of her. As she did so, she managed to dislodge a few of Dot’s neatly stored items from the back of the shelf as a result of the force she was applying by trying to stuff in the new ones. She froze as the sleeve of one particular item unfurled and wrapped itself slightly across her wrist. It was Jack’s overcoat.

 

She pulled on it then like a madwoman until the entire coat emerged and lay in a heap in her lap. It was both torture and comfort, one of the most contradictory things she had ever experienced, having a piece of himself with her and at the same time feeling like she had lost him completely. It reassured her and mortified her in equal parts, and she couldn't decide whether it did her good or bad, whether it was worth it or not. Her fingers reached out to tentatively stroke the familiar texture of the material, evoking a myriad of images and moments of when she had done the same when its owner was wearing it whether to tease or to comfort him. Her hands now clutched at the fabric as though they could bring back the man who was rarely without his sartorial coat of armour.

 

“Oh, Jack,” she again fought back the overwhelming emotions. “Where are you?”

 

She wished with all of her heart that God, the Universe, whoever was up there pulling the strings (she was willing to believe in anything at this point, perhaps even more willing than the child she had been before Janey disappeared) would show her where he was, give her a sign of what she had to do. She was not a religious person, she did not believe in anyone but herself and the hard work she was always ready to do in order to get something she wanted, but right now she felt that what she once heard a woman said to her mother was true: some people laugh at God when everything was fine, and they think they can carry the weight of the world on their shoulder. But all of a sudden when the weight of the world was crushing them down, they wished God were there laughing _with_ them and reassuring them that it would all pass soon, that things would be all right.

 

Well, Phryne Fisher was someone who swore she hadn’t taken anything seriously since 1918, and preferred to laugh instead of cry at whatever life did throw at her. She blinked back the few tears still threatening to escape, and stood up suddenly, the coat still clutched in her hands. She had asked for a sign, and here she was gripping it. Shaking the wrinkles out as best as she could, Phryne resolutely shoved first one arm through a sleeve, and then another through the second one. She plunged her hands into the pockets as she began to make her way towards the door when she felt something inside the one that made her pause. Her fingers closed around the unmistakable feel of silk, which she quickly pulled out to investigate. Only to discover that she was holding a beautiful tie. And not just any tie, but the very same one that Jack had been wearing on that awful night in the ambulance. The one he had bought especially for their violently aborted dinner event. The one she had told Dot to burn along with his blood soaked coat. But, bless her again, her faithful companion had not only salvaged the items, but had managed to have them cleaned and restored back to pristine condition and stored them away in case the inspector should want them again eventually.

 

Quickly looping the tie around her own neck, Phryne whirled out of the room and back towards the front of the house just as Dot was winding her way down the corridor carrying a tea tray.

 

“Your tea is ready now, miss,” the younger woman announced with only the slightest quirk of her eyebrow to indicate her confusion at the other woman’s sudden choice in attire. But Dot was now more used to eccentric people that she had been when they had first met. The girl had become so much more open-minded since she’d become friends with Miss Fisher. “Or, did you not want it anymore?”

 

“Save it for when Bert and Cec return again after their next round, Dot,” Miss Fisher replied over her shoulder as she continued rushing down the corridor. “Tell them to take a well-deserved break.”

 

“What about you though, miss?” Dot immediately turned to follow her employer back the way she had just come. “Let me pack you a basket at least.” The younger sleuth had an inkling that her mentor would be needing it for wherever she was heading next.

 

“Excellent idea, Dot, you clever thing!” Phryne agreed. If the girl hadn’t been holding a tray, she could have cupped her lovely face in her hands and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Make sure you add a few more of those drop scones you were baking earlier this morning.”

 

“The inspector’s favourite ones, miss? Do you know where he’s gone then?”

 

“It’s only a feeling, Dot,” Miss Fisher stopped once they reached the front hall, a little of her usual sparkle returning to her eyes. “But, when I said I would make sure I brought Inspector Robinson home again, it never occurred to me that he might have done so himself.”  

 

“What do you mean, miss?” Dot said. She had gotten used to her miss often talking in riddles. She was a well-read woman, Miss Fisher, and had a beautiful way with words to express her thoughts and feelings. Sometimes when she spoke, it felt like music to Dot’s ears, even if she didn’t always say things the young maid or her priest agreed with. “I’ll be right back with the basket.”

 

Leaving her mistress in the hall just as Phryne plucked her hat from off its hook and had pulled it firmly over her bob before adding an extra hat pin, Dot hurried with the tray to the kitchen. Phryne waited for the dear girl to return with the hamper before she grasped the door handle, and turned to blow Dot a quick kiss.

 

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Richmond. At the inspector’s house.”

  
And then, she left the beautiful house she lived in to go find the person that made her feel most at home, hoping that what her heart was telling her with every single one of its beats was that she would finally find him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Archie/Jack finally finds his way back home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And not a moment too soon from the sounds of all the hearts we've managed to shatter and the tears we've managed to wrench (including our own). And don't worry, there's still one more chapter to go since we had promised lots of comfort! As always, thank you for all of your wonderful, heartfelt and detailed comments, they have spurred us on as we've been battling with RL demands!

A loud noise from the street startled Archie awake. Glancing about in bewilderment, he sat up wondering where he was for a brief moment. Peering down at his wristwatch, he realised that he had fallen asleep on the bench, and that it was much later in the day than he had realised. The temperature had dropped and it was freezing outside. At least, it felt that way due to the fact he was now rather damp from the smattering of rain that was still determined to soak him. The skies were turning a dark shade of blue and the moon was slowly pushing the sun away and taking its place.

 

Still in a slightly groggy state, he wondered for an idle moment if it had happened like that, if the progress of Fernie’s feelings for this man named Jack had resembled the twilight: if it had barely been perceived at first, but then before anyone realized it the sun had gone away and the moon was there instead shining in all of its splendour. With the sun hidden and forgotten. It was a painful thought, but it was reality and he’d have to get used to it. Nothing good would come out of denying it.

 

Archie leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands across his sleepy eyes before attempting to coax some warmth back into his chilled body. He turned to look over his shoulder towards the house, but it was still blocked momentarily by the bower of roses he had planted right over this very spot to create a sense of seclusion. Even through the leaves, he didn’t catch any glimpses of light coming from that direction and decided to go and investigate. It was better than remaining in the drizzling cold where he might be in danger of catching his death of cold (risking the ire of Dr Mac alone on that account was a deterrent for such a demise). He also knew that he should telephone Wardlow to let Fernie and the household know that he was all right (in body, if not in spirit).

 

He stood and stretched quickly, wriggling his nearly frozen toes inside his shoes, as he skirted the rose garden and made his way towards the back end of the house, which was indeed shrouded in darkness. Knocking lightly, he peered through the door’s window, but all was silent and motionless within as far as he could. As another gust of wind drenched him from behind, Archie turned to the right aiming for a little rockery where he used to hide his spare key. He dug about in the dirt behind a particular rock the size of his hand that he had found during a seaside visit in the past. Spot on! He found it. It was covered in dirt and it smelled of soil, but it would serve its purpose. It still fit into the lock, and as he let himself in he wondered whether there would be any tea left in the kitchen cabinets; he was freezing, and it had been hours since he had last had something to drink. He didn’t feel like eating at all, not with the knot he had in his stomach, but he did need a hot drink to warm up.

 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” he called out, the rumbles of his voice echoing slightly throughout the stillness of the hallway. “Hello?”

 

The house was silent and as cold as the back garden had been, which indicated no one was about. Even in the dim light from the streetlamps outside, Archie could tell it was impeccable and tidy, evidently because its current resident was someone who liked everything clean, spotless and in its right place. He stepped further into the house without bothering to switch on any lights. There was a strong, lingering smell of pine that reminded him of the products Mr. Butler used at Wardlow for the house cleaning, and for some reason he found himself surprised that the man himself had not appeared out of thin air with a cup of warm tea and a tray of biscuits ready for them.   

 

Archie looked about and even in the darkness, he noticed that some pieces of furniture seemed rather familiar to him. In fact, he was startled to find that he recognized some of his actual belongings! There was a blanket on the couch that his grandmother had knitted and sent him in a parcel when he’d been on the front. And the clock on the mantel, that was his, too. He had bought it at a small market, he remembered that. Hadn’t Fernie been with him that afternoon? No, she hadn’t. He couldn’t remember her being there, but he did remember they had already met and they were already in love, for he had seen a beautiful brooch that same day. He remembered that quite well, and it had reminded him of her. In fact, he now recalled that he had actually bought it for her and stowed it away in one of his secret hiding places to surprise her with very soon...but then the robbery had taken place and he’d forgotten all about it. Until now.

 

He wondered if the brooch was still there and was about to investigate when a violent sneeze seized him, reminding him that he was shivering from his wet clothes. Without much thought, he mechanically turned towards the bathroom and felt rewarded to find clean towels (again, ones that he recognized) exactly where he expected them to be. Peeling off his damp clothing, Archie dried himself vigorously, taking care around the still slightly tender spots on his head before wrapping another dry towel around his waist. Since so many of his things were there, perhaps, some of his clothing might still be there as well as he was beginning to see that perhaps Fernie hadn’t managed to find a tenant for their old home after all. He also wondered why they hadn’t arranged for all of his things to be moved to Wardlow, or why there were other items there that he couldn’t recall at all. It was all so confusing, but that had become such a regular part of his existence since the shooting that he had simply grown to accept it when he should have done more to figure out more answers to the many questions that constantly plagued him.

 

But, first things first, he decided resolutely as he shuffled his way into the kitchen to search for some tea. Pleased to find that the tea supplies were still well-stocked (with the exception of any milk, but he always took his black anyway), Archie filled the kettle with water and set it onto the stove top. Delighted to discover a stash of edible biscuits still in a tin, he quickly devoured a few happily wondering if there was anything else to eat (to hell with those knots in his stomach) when he thought about Fernie and the others waiting at Wardlow for any sight or word about him. Suddenly, the thought of causing his sweet wife any grief dampened his chewing slightly, reminding him that he really ought to go and telephone her. At the same time, he still didn’t feel ready to hear her voice just quite yet. He loved the sound of it, but at the moment, all he could recall were the tones of anguish in which she had uttered those terrible words. And another man’s name. Realising that he had inadvertently crushed the remainder of the last biscuit in his hands, Archie brushed the crumbs off on his towel. He would have his cup of tea and then he would return to his earlier mission to discover whether that brooch was still in his secret hiding place. At the very least, he could take it back to Fernie as a peace offering after his little escapade today. That is, if she wanted him to come back.

 

Gulping down the scalding liquid that did an admirable job of warming him up, Archie headed resolutely out of the kitchen towards his former study. Pausing to tighten the towel around his waist, he looked about the familiar room, marvelling how some of the books still on the shelves were so similar to those of his own collection. Then again, perhaps they were his since he knew that his study at Wardlow only contained the majority of his favourites, but not all of his collection. Which meant that his hiding spot might still be hidden after all. Walking over to one of the nearly empty bookcases, he reached up towards one of the top shelves that still held a row of nondescript books, and slid his hand over until his fingers brushed a latch against the side of the end panel. With a little click, the panel gave way, and the entire book collection swung out to reveal a tiny safe. Archie deftly worked at the knob, grateful that it looked undisturbed, and smiled when the door swung out above him. Reaching inside, he felt for the tiny box that he was searching for and began to pull it out when his hand brushed against something larger. He removed the box and quickly opened it, smiling slightly to himself as the beautiful brooch reflected a glint from the street lamp outside the window. Then, he reached up to pull out the other item that he couldn’t remember placing inside. It looked to be a book of some sort.

 

Quickly closing the safe and ensuring his faux book collection was once again protecting it, Archie stepped over towards the window, pulling the curtain open slightly so he could read the front page more clearly. There was some writing scrawled along the top page that he squinted to read in the semi-darkness. As the words registered to his shocked mind, he dropped the heavy tome, which landed on his foot, causing him to curse out loud in pain. Biting his lip to ride through the final wave of agony, he crouched down, and rubbed his bruised toes (served him right for wandering around without any shoes...or clothes on, for that matter) before picking the book up again and opening it again to the front cover. Still in disbelief, he read the name out loud:

 

“Jack Robinson.”

 

What was more was that it was inscribed in a familiar scrawl. What he couldn’t believe was that the name was written in a hand that Archie would recognise anywhere...because it was exactly like his own!

 

_What could it possibly mean? Was this their current tenant after all? Was this Jack Robinson, the same man who now held Fernie’s heart? But, why would this man have the exact same handwriting as himself?_

 

Archie then turned to the next page only to encounter more of the same handwriting. Flipping through the rest of the book, he then realised that it wasn’t just a book, but a journal of sorts. His alarm began to spread as he read snippets here and there, especially when his eyes honed in on not only his name, but that of Fernie’s as well. His eyes widened in horror as he read exact details and descriptions of their lives - everything from their professions and their favourite pursuits - carefully recorded page after page.

 

_What the hell was going on? How dare this mysterious Robinson bloke record this private information about them_ _!_

 

He angrily flipped towards the back of the journal and was just about to slam the journal close when something fluttered out from inside it. Leaning over, Archie caught it between his fingers and again felt a jolt like lightning when he held it before his face: it was a photograph of Fernie! Only, she was striking such a ridiculous pose as she faced the camera. Turning the image around, he was again struck dumb when he he read the following inscription in his own handwriting:

 

_Hon. P Fisher. Arrested, Aug 1928. City South._

 

It was simply too much. Overwhelmed by this mystery confronting him, Archie slid down to the floor clutching the brooch box, journal and photo against his chest with one hand as the other gripped the bridge of his nose to ward off a wave of sudden nausea and dizziness. He knew that he was beginning to have a panic attack, and bent forward breathing deeply as he had learned to do in the trenches. At least this time, he wouldn’t be ingesting the noxious fumes from the gases, blood and all other manner of foulness that still occasionally haunted him from the Western Front. He remained frozen in that position attempting to get his bearings, wishing now that he had telephoned earlier to alert Fernie and any of the others about his whereabouts. What would happen if he passed out, which only happened more frequently after he had first returned from the war? At first, it had scared his wife, although she had tried to comfort him. But then, she had eventually stopped trying. Eventually, she was no longer even there. She had moved out and gone to live with her sister. Hang on, that wasn’t right. Fernie didn’t have a sister. Or, she did once. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of images shattered inside his mind as everything he thought he knew collided with images and facts that didn’t seem to belong. But also felt so real.

 

He gripped his face in his hands and willed himself to focus on what he knew beyond all doubt or thought, the one central truth that he always returned to no matter what facts or logic or reasons might do to sway him: that he loved a certain raven-haired woman, whether her name was Fern Jones or not, whether she was his wife or not, and that he always would. He now knew that he had begun to love her since the very first time they had met, and he also knew now that nothing could make him stop. She was a part of him now, as vital to him as his own blood, or at least his love for her was. Stronger than anything he'd ever felt, more powerful than his fears or doubts. It was the truest thing he'd ever had, and it had become the very heart of his being.

 

As though his thoughts had conjured her into being, he immediately felt calmer as the unmistakable caress of her perfume reached him before her voice and touch did.

 

(Could it be possible that he loved her so much he had actually “loved” her into appearing?)

 

“Oh, my darling,” her reassuring whisper wrapped itself around the splintering chaos inside his head just as her fingers moved lightly through his hair and comfortingly along his bare shoulders and arms. “I’m here now. I’ve found you. You’ll be all right. I’ll take you home.”

 

He heard a slight rustle as she knelt down in front of him before reaching out to cup gentle hands alongside his face and coaxing him to look up at her. As he did so, his eyes strayed over the strange coat that she was wearing that was obviously too large for her and then landed on the tie around her neck. A man’s tie. One that he couldn’t recall ever wearing. But just like so many of the items surrounded him since he had stepped foot in this house again, it also seemed strangely familiar...and _his_. He had bought it for her, hadn’t he? Yes, he remembered that he had bought that specific tie to wear especially for her. But he had never gotten around to wearing it, or had he? Either way, he instinctively knew that it was his. Like the furniture, the knick knacks...and the journal with his handwriting.

 

The one containing Fernie’s, no that wasn’t right, a particular woman’s photograph hidden inside it. A photograph of the same woman who was now there right beside him. The one who had always been right there next to and with him whether he had wanted her to be there or not. The person who never gave up on him, even when he had tried giving up on them once...his partner. His friend. His everything. Suddenly, he knew! She was his…

 

“Miss Fisher!”

 

 _Phryne._ The ever present thorn in his side who bloomed into something so much more beautiful in his life. In spite of the inner and outer whirlwind she always brought with her into any case or situation, she had also long remained the only constant for him. The only one that mattered even when life tried to baffle him, even now when the rest of his memories and thoughts still felt so conflicting. He finally looked up and locked onto her blinding gaze that continued to burn away the haze of doubts and confusion battling inside him. She smiled as her soul instantly recognized what had taken him so long to remember.

 

“Jack,” she responded immediately, the depth of her eyes reflecting the untold fathoms of what he felt for her in that moment as time simply ceased to exist, as it always did whenever their eyes met like this. “ _My_ Jack. You’re finally back! You came home.” She tenderly traced her thumb along his cheekbones and down across his lips. It sent shivers down his spine, and his body ached with the love he felt for that wonderful woman. He shook his head at her words.

 

“You came after me. _You’re_ my home, Miss Fisher.”

 

Just as their heads and lips spanned the small space between them, he shivered slightly at her touch, which immediately snapped her out of her reverie.

 

“Jack Robinson, why are you wandering about in nothing, but...well, a  towel?” She instantly demanded as she began to shrug out of his overcoat. “Not that I’m complaining about the view by any means, but you could catch your death of cold! And I can’t risk losing you now that I just got you back!”

 

Shedding the garment, she quickly swung it over his shoulders, fussing at him as he obediently threaded his arms through the sleeves. She quickly buttoned it up with a reluctant expression as the wide expanse of his bare chest disappeared from her gaze. He levelled his own gaze at her with a knowing smirk and a ready quip on his lips.

 

“I got caught in the rain,” he told her simply without any further elaboration when he was interrupted by the loud complaints coming from his stomach that earned him a playful swat.

 

“And if it’s not the chills, I won’t have Mac on my case for allowing you to starve away either. Come on then, dear Dot packed us a hamper, bless her, and lucky you since I’m guessing you haven’t had a bite to eat since this morning?”

 

“I did eat some biscuits that I found…” he began to protest just as Phryne jumped to her feet with an affectionate roll of her eyes. She extended a hand to help him stand, only just noticing the items he was gathering up in his hands.

 

“What are those, Inspector Robinson?” Jack immediately felt sheepish as he quickly placed the box and the journal onto the nearest shelf behind him.

 

“Oh, nothing you need to worry about at the moment, Miss Fisher,” he tried to inform her nonchalantly, despite knowing his ploy wouldn’t work against the full force of her curiosity.

 

“Jack...” She began to reach around him.

 

“I’ll show you later, Phryne,” he promised with a quirk of his lip at the moue of disappointment she gave him, prompting him to wrap his arms around her, which immediately stopped her progress. “I promise!”

 

Her pout twisted into an adorable curl of doubt that he couldn’t resist any longer. His hand reached up to cup her head as the other pulled her closer by the waist, and he leaned in to give her a searing kiss in hopes it would distract her. If anything, it distracted him more and reminded him that he was only wearing a thin towel beneath his coat as she began to press herself against him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

 

“Right, now, what’s this you were saying about a hamper?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear all, 
> 
> It has been our pleasure to invite you to come with us on this wonderful journey we have taken through writing. We have enjoyed every minute of it, and the comments and reactions we have gotten from you have been an amazing reward. We are happy to know you have fallen in love with this story, as have we. To hear from some of you that you've gone back to the beginning just to read it all again! It's the best compliment you could have given us as writers!
> 
> We hope to meet all of you again some time soon in a different story, on a different adventure, always by the hand of our favourite crime-solving duo.
> 
> As always, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts and wish you the best. We hope you enjoy this one last waltz.

The rain certainly didn’t stop Miss Fisher and her inspector from enjoying their impromptu picnic with the food Dot had packed for them. It wasn’t quite the one Phryne had hoped to share with him at Luna Park, and it was indoors, yes, but it was a picnic nonetheless. They lounged on the floor after Jack had retrieved his grandmother’s blanket from the couch to spread over the wooden floor of his sitting room. Since it was still pouring outside, he had also lit a fire that cast a comforting glow about them as they sat close together enjoying the spoils of the hamper (although it could be said that Miss Fisher enjoyed watching her voracious partner doing the plundering more). It felt so intimate, so new, and yet so strangely familiar and comforting. They both felt they were where they belonged: with each other. It was odd for Phryne to feel she truly belonged somewhere, let alone with someone, but Jack made her feel that way, and she had long ago tired from fighting against it. He made her happy, she could now readily admit that she needed and loved him, and now that she had almost lost him again she wouldn’t let the chance to be with him slip away.

 

“I can’t believe I almost lost you,” she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek, her forehead pressed against his. She was breathing in the same air he was breathing out, and she could have sworn that she could hear his heart beating from his chest. Nothing had anything ever felt so beautifully reassuring, to know that he was there, and real, and hers, and that he remembered her. Them. Everything.

 

“You didn’t lose me, though,” he told her, his lips just one breath away from hers. “I’m still here.”

 

“A part of you never left me,” she began to tell him. He looked at her quizzically, so she explained: “You talked in your sleep. You called my name,” a lump was forming in her throat as she recounted those nights she’d hear him call out to her. “You asked me not to leave you, you asked me to go after you, to go find you…”

 

“And you did,” he smiled at her lovingly. “You did, Miss Fisher. You came after me, you found me. You always find the things you look for.”

 

“These past two months,” she sighed. “They’ve been so difficult for me, Jack. You have to understand,” she began apologizing. She didn’t know how to do this, what to say. Nothing seemed good enough, and she was at a loss for words. But she wanted to try anyway. He deserved that so she tried. “I didn’t know what else to do. Mac told me it would be best to go with the flow, go with your take on things, and I agreed with her…”

 

“You did the right thing, love,” he assured her, the term of endearment slipping from his lips as easily as though it had always belonged there. As if she had always been his love, his one and only. “You did what was right. You did what you had to do. And I couldn’t be more thankful, Phryne. I couldn’t be more thankful for everything you’ve done for me, to help me recover, to bring me back to this life. Back to you.”

 

“I don’t know how I did it, though,” she confessed. “How I managed to live with both versions of yourself, worrying if you’d ever return to me. Wondering if Archie would ever leave and give me back my inspector. My best friend. My partner in crime...solving.”

 

“I can imagine how difficult it must have been, Phryne,” he said, his heart heavy with sadness and emotion because of what she had had to go through without him even realising it. Because he had caused it. He was grateful that she’d had her adopted family with her, helping and supporting her. He knew the people at Wardlow were her family, that she considered them as such. And they had never let her down, not for a second. They had cared for him, and for her, and he would never be able to repay them for what they had done in their time of need.

 

“Archie seemed so real sometimes,” she admitted. “He knew all of these details about his life with Fernie. There were moments I thought you were gone forever, Inspector. That Archie had replaced you. It was your body I was seeing, your voice I was hearing, but it seemed to belong to someone else. You were someone else, with a life so different to yours even though there were resemblances and similarities. He came from an alternative world that only existed in your head, and that I did my best to make come to life for your sake…”

 

“It does exist. This alternative world,” he began hesitantly.

 

“What do you mean? Are you implying that Archibald Jones and his wife Fernie actually exist somewhere?”

 

“In a way, yes,” he admitted, a little bit dubiously. She noticed right away that he was nervous, like a child that has been caught doing something that might be naughty.

 

“Hmm,” she mused out loud.“This wouldn’t have anything to do with those items you were clutching and then trying to hide from me, would they? Does it have to do with that?” She prompted him rather pointedly.

 

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

 

“Jack, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Phryne tried to encourage him to open up and talk. She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly as she leaned back slightly so she could study his expression more clearly.

 

“Archibald Jones and his wife Fernie exist in a novel I was writing prior to the shooting.” As with most confessions, Jack decided to simply unload it all at once and skip the painful interrogation process. After all, his experience in this matter, both professionally, and certainly when it came to a particular lady detective, was most rapidly returning to that rusty side of his mind!

 

“You were writing a novel?” Phryne inquired with authentic interest and curiosity in her velvet voice. “I didn’t know you wrote anything other than case notes or paperwork, Jack!” she confessed, pleasantly surprised. “You are most definitely my never ending source of mystery, my dear Inspector.” She smiled at him, the warmth she felt and was reflecting at him so contagious he felt better at once, more relaxed and ready to talk to her about his findings from before.

 

“Er, yes, Miss Fisher. And in the confusing state of mind I was in following the hostage incident, I evidently mistook the life of the main character of my story for my own life…” He reached out to stroke her cheek comfortingly when he caught the slight shadow that flittered across her eyes at his reference to the shooting. She gave him a half-smile and nuzzled his hand slightly before her customary, impish expression banished any dark thoughts that might have threatened to linger.

 

“I take Mrs. Fernie Jones would be my counterpart in this novel you were working on, then,” she guessed correctly.

 

“Yes,” he admitted rather sheepishly. “I began working on it shortly after the case at the Imperial Club...when you went undercover as the fan dancer,” he coughed slightly, trying to hide his blush at her eager and wide-eyed expression at his admission. She then removed the glass he was holding and began to slide herself slowly onto his lap so that she was straddling him exactly the same way as she’d done during that case. “I’ve always enjoyed writing. I am not sure if I am good at it,” he continued, self-consciousness shining in his darkened eyes, “but it’s a coping mechanism that I find rather useful and effective…”

 

“And what exactly were you coping with when you began writing this novel?” Phryne asked the question even though she was certain that the answer he’d give her would be the same one she was guessing. But she wanted to ask anyway. She wanted to hear it from his lips.

 

“My feelings for you,” he confessed. “Archibald Jones, a former jazz pianist that falls in love with a fan dancer named Fernie that goes by the pseudonym Lulu Loreeta when she’s on stage. That was what my story was about. That was the world I woke up in after the shooting, one I had created myself.” He sounded embarrassed, almost ashamed.

 

“Do you think that perhaps, I could read that story some day? When you’re ready to share it with me?” She didn’t want Jack to feel rushed or forced to share his deepest thoughts and feelings with her, those he had penned down whilst trying to cope with how strong, new and overwhelming they were. But she was curious, it was in her nature, and she wanted to know how he perceived them, how he had translated all of that into a different world, where they had different identities and different occupations, but they were essentially the same: two people in love. That even though they came from separate worlds and couldn’t possible connect so well at first glance were actually soulmates and destined to be together. Phryne couldn’t help it: she wanted to read it. Perhaps someday, he would be ready to let her peer inside this rare, beautiful gift he had. She was more than grateful that he was able to tell her about it now.

 

“I never meant for you to find out how I used to channel my feelings for you,” he confessed. “But now that you know about it, now that you’ve actually even met, lived with, and been ‘married’ to Archibald,” they both laughed softly at this, “I wouldn’t mind if you read it. There’s no one else I’d rather read my story to than you, Miss Fisher”.

 

He then nudged her off his lap reluctantly to go and retrieve the journal. She felt tears brimming in the corners of her eyes as he rejoined her on their picnic blanket and gave it to her, his eyes telling Phryne everything she needed to know: he trusted her with his heart, with his mind and soul, with everything that he was and that was poured onto those yellowish pages. In the simple act of allowing her to read his journal, he was giving Phryne a piece of himself that no one else would ever have, just like no one else would ever hold his heart in their hands in the way that she did.

 

She looked at the journal as if it was something rare, exotic even. Priceless. Jack Robinson had begun writing a novel. And she’d have the privilege to be its only reader, something she found fitting since she had been, after all, his muse. He didn’t need to say so in many words, it was all said there in his beautiful eyes. It was all said there in the way he was looking at her. And she had never felt more adored and treasured in all of her life than she did right there and then by this wonderful man.

 

After examining it closely, her fingers caressing its cover with the same reverence and softness that her other hand was tracing the lines of his face, Phryne gave the journal back to Jack and said:

 

“Read it to me, please, Jack. I want to hear it from your lips.”

 

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, but immediately relaxed when she leaned closer to him, her head resting on his shoulders. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax as well, determined to enjoy every second she’d spend hearing his velvety, rich voice reading out loud the words he had written for her, thinking of her. The words she had been the muse for. In some way their own personal story had been the clay he had used to bring this work of fiction alive, and she wanted to learn about it and the way he had woven it into existence by having Jack read it to her while she nestled her body against his. Phryne felt content, and safe, and at home, and she knew he felt that way as well. It didn’t matter how nervous it made him feel, the act of stripping his heart and soul bare for her by the light and warmth of the fire, because ultimately he knew that he was where he belonged, with whom he belonged to, and it was true that there was no other person he’d rather read his writing to.

 

They felt happy, and whole, something they had both longed for ever since the war- perhaps even before the war- but had never admitted to anyone else to wanting so much it made them feel the ache in their skin and bones. He kept that in mind before he began reading: he was where he had always been destined to end up to, with whom he had always been destined to end up with. Everything would be fine because they had each other, because they were making the choice of being together, like two swallows that always find their way back to each other when they’re trying to find the way home.

 

He was home.

 

And with that thought in mind, he began to read.

 

With each word, sentence, and passage, Phryne began to truly understand the depth and the reality behind Archie and Fernie’s detailed story. She was able to see the beauty of it that reached her because it reflected that elemental aspect of Jack’s soul that connected so perfectly with the very same core of hers. It was what had sustained her, given her hope even through those dark and painful moments when he had really thought himself to be Archie. It was a glimmer of the deep, deep heart that beat within and gave life and sense to Jack Robinson. The one filled with wellsprings of love for justice, for peace, for others. For her.

 

She could hear it through every word reverberating through his chest where her ear was nuzzled now against his bare chest (who was she to say anything if he didn’t stop her from unbuttoning his coat at some point during his storytelling?). She could feel it through every steady reassuring thump of his physical heart muscles that continued to pump blood throughout his wonderful body. She could bask in the sense of joy that these characters imbued in their epic love story as they battled poverty and hostility and still managed to carve out a beautiful life together in aid of the less fortunate. As she had already deciphered previously, she knew it was a representation, a retelling, a hopeful interpretation of their actual lives as Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher. A declaration of what truly united them that both of them had tried denying for too long. But now, no longer would take for granted.

 

Especially after the war, she of all people, always believed in second chances, if not third or fourth ones. Everyone deserved a second chance, another take at making things right. Different. Better.  Defeat was simply not in her nature. She had never let anyone make her feel defeated, not even her monster of a father when she’d been a child, or that horrible, wicked man that had almost gotten away with murdering her little sister. And, now, as she listened to Jack near the end of his tale, she realised that defeat wasn’t in his nature either in spite of what he had endured during and after the war, especially with the end of his marriage as a consequence of the demons that had followed him home from the trenches. If anything, she also understood that the fact he was divorced or had once tried walking out on their partnership had nothing to do with failure, but the fact this honourable man also believed everyone needed to remain true to themselves. He was the last person to expect someone else to become anything less due to another’s expectations. In fact, Archie and Fern’s marriage itself was forged by their equal partnership because the two realised they could achieve so much more by being together at that level emotionally, socially, legally...in every way as they continued to face life together. Again, it was so poignantly and powerfully expressed through Jack’s skillful descriptions and prose. Honestly, if the man ever decided to take up something other than the constabulary, Phryne had no doubt he could more than succeed at a career as a novelist. Perhaps, even as a mystery writer!

 

“I hope that your deep sigh of contentment indicates great approval for my story, Miss Fisher, and not just that it’s excellent bedtime reading.” He had stopped reading and was glancing down at her fondly.

 

“Au contraire, Inspector,” she swept her eyes up towards his, loathe to budge even an inch from the glorious feeling of her cheek against his bare skin. “I was actually just thinking how you could certainly forge an amazing new career as a mystery author if the thought ever crossed your mind. I, for one, would certainly be willing to invest in it. I’m thinking ‘Fisher Publishing House’,” she smiled up at him. “It could work, don’t you think? Copies would fly off the shelves!”

 

“Only because you make the perfect heroine to the story?” He couldn’t help teasing her.

 

“But of course, Jack! After all, who else do you know in real life who could be as skilled in so many areas such as Fernie? She’s a wonder woman!”

 

“Well, far be it from me to withhold praise, Miss Fisher, because she was certainly inspired by the most wonderful woman I have had the privilege of knowing. And holding,” he acknowledged as her arms tightened around him at his open admission. “And…”

 

“And what else, Jack?” her eyelids fluttered in faux innocence even as her clever fingers began to trace trails up and down his sides and spine, leaving trails of heat igniting his skin and more. “What happens next?”

 

Deliberately avoiding her subtle question and seductive expression, the inspector pretended to adopt a quizzical expression as though he were deep in thought.

 

“Well, I suppose we should see if your red raggers wouldn’t mind helping me move my things back here all things considered. I wouldn’t want to risk your reputation after all, Miss Fisher.”

 

Phryne immediately sat up at his statement, causing Jack to regret his half-serious joking at the loss of her touch. Her touch, that he had gotten used to in the last couple of weeks, even if the mind coordinating and orchestrating his body had belonged to Archie. And she had gotten used to his touch, as well. It was one of the very few things she knew she did not want to ever do without: the warmth of his touch, the calmness that it brought to her always turbulent mind.  

 

“You want to leave, Jack?” Jack reached out instinctively to cup the side of her head as he sensed her undisguised disappointment and distress.

 

“No, of course not, Phryne,” she sagged visibly in relief, turning her head into his touch as he reached out his other arm to gather her close against him again. “Especially not after I’ve just learned how much anguish I’ve put you through these past weeks. It’s just, well, there’s just so much to absorb and to process. I no longer want to be a burden on you or trespass any longer on your wonderful hospitality...”

 

He was immediately cut off by her fiery kiss and the momentum of her body as she pushed herself against him and back against the floor. Sensing a sliver of fear intermingling with her pent up desire, Jack simply responded by wrapping his arms around her as his innate propensity to protect rallied to shield her from whatever dragons were suddenly chasing her. Although, even through the haze of the passion that had always simmered between them and was now able to bubble over, the inspector was also aware that his partner’s desperation was borne from more than just the moment. In fact, his ability to translate her emotions kicked into full gear as he tried to reassure and comfort her with his lips and hands, doing what he could to dispel the shadows from her eyes. He opened his own and found himself falling into the depths of hers and was startled to find them filled with several suspicious droplets.

 

“Phryne,” he pulled away only enough to catch his breathe and so he could brush the tears that did fall as he called her by name. “What is it? You can tell me, love.”

 

“Jack, after all we’ve both been through...both before and especially since the...shooting. It just pains me to hear you worry about something so trivial as my reputation or that you might be ‘trespassing on my hospitality.’ Especially after hearing you read your story to me. It’s just...just...seems so…”

 

“Trite? No, you’re absolutely right, Phryne,” Jack leaned in to kiss her in reassurance again. “I’m sorry, those weren’t the right choice of words, perhaps, but I also really didn’t want to presume anything.”

 

“Jack Robinson, do stop trying to be the perfect gentleman! We are both beyond the point of return from social niceties any longer. Why, we’ve been living as man and wife! Albeit, not in the full sense,” she couldn’t help adding with a tiny return of her usual mischievousness. “Yet.”

 

He couldn’t help flashing her her favourite lopsided grin before he leaned in for another kiss and then immediately moved to get up before bending down to extend a hand to her. She immediately put hers in his and sprang up to her feet as he supported her. Still holding her hand tightly, he led them both back to his study and the shelf where she had found him. He reached for the small box that he had attempted to hid from her view earlier and turned to place it in her other hand.

 

Phryne pushed back the momentary panic that loomed at the sight of the tiny, yet ornate box, grasping onto Jack’s hand and her complete trust in him. Giving his hand a squeeze, she let go of it briefly to pry open the box. And immediately felt her eyes welling up with tears again at the sight of the tiny blue swallow brooch nestled against its nest of rich, black velvet.

 

“Oh, Jack,” she managed to breathe.

 

“I found it one day when I was wandering around the monthly antique market. It reminded me of that story you recently told me about how your father had pawned off the one you cherished as a child. That your grandmother had given to you. I was planning to give it to you soon for a special occasion.”

 

The tears began to drip again in earnest, but this time from entirely happy emotions as Phryne listened to Jack’s tale. Taking the box from her, he carefully removed the brooch from its setting and gently began to pin it to his tie that she still wore.

 

“The swallow comes from the species called ‘passerine’ because they are known for being long-distance migratory birds.”

 

“I never knew that,” she managed to whisper, still not trusting her voice as she gazed down at the beautiful, tiny bird.

 

“Then, you might also not know that swallows have been called the ‘bird of freedom’ because they cannot endure captivity and will only mate in the wild? And once they do find their mate, they are known to travel in pairs for long distances.”

 

“What happens if they become separated?”

 

“Then they always find their way back home to each other,” Jack told her as he gently tugged on the tie to pull her closer to him. “Wherever home may be.”

 

Neither of the detectives needed any more speech to clarify the inspector’s meaning after that as their mouths continued to communicate where words left off. Together, they took comfort in the fact and assurance in the truth that home wasn’t necessarily a place after all. It could be someone. It could be a feeling, a strong love and sense of belonging exactly like how they had always felt with the other. Home could be nightcaps shared in the parlour after solving an extremely difficult case, and games of draughts over glasses of fine whiskey, and reading out loud to each other from a leather-bound notebook full of musings. It also now encompassed being able to freely share fears, frustrations, and especially more of the banter and delight that they had always enjoyed from being with the other. All of that and now, so much more, was home to them. They were home to each other.

 

And like the swallows that incarnate the sense of freedom they were always after - him from his demons, she from her dragons, both of them from the troubles of both their recent and distant past - now, they could acknowledge that they had this chance to be together again, that they had found each other again, they would always come back to the other’s arms.

 

They now knew that wherever their wings took them from this moment onward, whatever they would end up facing, they would continue to do so together.

 

They would always find their way back home.


End file.
